


All About Us

by orphan_account



Category: Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Dorks in Love, F/M, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Romance, also business, because angst is my thing, even though I have no idea how business works, less fluff and more angst tho, or bars, or singing, this is a mess, which is basically the entire story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-06
Updated: 2017-09-07
Packaged: 2018-08-19 20:54:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 63
Words: 62,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8224543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Clary never would have though she would ever lead the classic superhero "double life," and yet here she is--your average business intern during the day, but one of the city's best known singers by night. She wanted to blame Magnus, seeing as it was his idea to start this whole disguise mess, but really, Magnus couldn't have predicted how entangled in this web of lies she had become. Magnus couldn't have predicted Jace, her stunningly attractive boss. Magnus couldn't have predicted the intricacies of age-old politics. And above all else, Magnus couldn't have predicted a murder investigation. It was all getting to be a little too much, and here Clary had thought her worst problem was a little bit of stagefright.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Alright. So, two things. The first: I am very bad at writing consistent chapter lengths when I write something all at once (which is what I did). That being said, the chapters are very short (about 500 words at the shortest, and 1500 at the max), BUT the story is completely finished already, and thus will be updated every couple of days or so. So keep checking back for more.  
> Secondly, this song will strongly reference a lot, I mean A LOT, of songs, none of which I claim any rights to. Probably almost one per chapter, give or take some. I strongly recommend readers listen to the songs, due to the fact they either compliment the chapters extremely well OR foreshadow extremely well (albeit, perhaps subtly).  
> Also note that the prologue is set in the future, and we will eventually get to Izzy's party, so don't freak out when the actual beginning of the story doesn't correlate chronologically whatsoever.  
> Also also note that I have a thing for parallels. So if you can see where some of the plot arcs are going because you've already read it in the original series, well. . . uhm. I just like parallels okay please just let me have my story parallels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> feat. tiny foreshadowing prologue and introduction notes.

A gentle tone of notes floated on the breeze, dancing between the white streamers that webbed between the trees. The tablecloths were spotless and sparkling but dare not outshine Isabelle's dress, and not a flower looked even the slightest bit wilted for Isabelle's engagement party.

Clary saw Isabelle and her fiance across the clearing, but the couple was not who preoccupied Clary's thoughts. Instead, it was a lion's mane and amber fire that clouded her speech and muddled her reason, and as if summoned by her thoughts, Jace, perfect and beautiful and fashionably late as usual, emerged from the cove of trees on the opposite side of the party.

He greeted the couple of the night, and then locked eyes with Clary. Frozen for a minute, Clary found herself unable to breathe, and she felt her knees weaken. Then all sense returned to her, though the ice in her veins remained like shards of her breaking heart, and she turned and ran, into the forest behind her, leaving the streamers and paper lanterns and memory of Jace's tears behind.

 


	2. The Sparkling Glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> feat. Just Give Me a Reason by P!nk and Nate Ruess

In a bar, down the street from everyone's favorite 24-hour convenience store, was a girl with red hair. This bar was run a little differently from most—it was unique, and that's what made it popular—it was styled more like something from the 1900's, with the waitresses doubling as live singers. Rarely did one walk into _The Sparkling Glass_ and not hear the haunting pitch of Isabelle or Clary's soft lilt.

It was every night that the songs played. Every night Clary preformed, and still, she could not get over her fear.

Like most nights, the bar was full, patrons splayed and splattered among the wooden tables, some squished into booths along the far wall. At the bar, to the right of the stage, was the man of the house, Magnus Bane, serving drinks and chatting absentmindedly with guests—everyone knew what his mind was on: the lovely boy with black hair and blue eyes who had once come in on a whim but then found himself lured in by cat green eyes and gentle touches, but that was another story.

The last beats of the music faded away, and Clary heard Jordan's voice over the microphone. She was backstage, practically shaking in anticipation as she peered out from behind the curtain. She almost screamed when Isabelle appeared at her shoulder, following Clary's anxious gaze.

“You'll do fine,” she said to Clary's glaring eyes. “You always do.”

“I know . . .” Clary began, but trailed off as Jordan announced her name over the microphone.

“And now, your favorite singer, I'm sure, and the one you're really here for. Come on out, Red!”

Okay, it wasn't the best invitation on stage, nor was it particularly formal, but all the same, ice shot through Clary's veins. For a moment she was frozen in fear. But then, with a deep breath and a nudge from Isabelle, she managed to emerge from the curtains with some degree of sauntering. If she hadn't been so preoccupied with being in front of the crowd, Clary might have remembered to ask Isabelle to give her some lessons in composure, but seeing as the stage fright was unrelenting, Clary never remembered.

Jordan smiled at her like an old friend (though, technically, he was) and handed her a microphone. She took another quick, calming breath, and then announced: “Let's give it up for Jordan Kyle!”

The applause that had greeted her as she came on stage returned, though significantly softer. She had to face it, men in a bar would always prefer a female singer to a guy, despite Jordan's good looks and velvet voice. “Now,” Clary continued, “Before I get onto the show, I must make an announcement. I'm sorry to say that I won't be performing here anymore.” A chorus of boos, but that was expected. Everything was fine, and going according to Magnus' plan.

“Oh, don't be like that,” Clary cooed into the mic. “Don't worry. Someone new will be joining, and I must say, she's something. Oops. Did I say she?” Clary's acting wasn't the best. But in a room full of people and beer, she doubted her attempts to be attractive on stage weren't too horrid. “I can't introduce her to you now, because her opening show will be next Monday, so be sure to come by to check her out!”

Another few boos, with a few claps mixed in.

Oh well.

They'd get over it.

Clary had run out of words, though, and her tact with crowds wasn't the best. The silence was threatening to stretch. Thankfully, Jordan was there to save her. “Well, Red,” he said, using the unspeakable nickname again. “We're sorry to see you go, but we still have one last show to put on tonight, right?”

“Oh, yes. Of course,” Clary replied, almost breathing a sigh of relief.

“Then on with it!” Jordan cried, and cued the music. The beginning of _Just Give Me a Reason_ by P!nk began to play, and Clary started singing. It was easier this way, she reminded herself. Just like singing, she'd fall into the new way of things. The fear fell away as she let her voice do the rest, as all should be. And as Jordan began his part of the duet, Clary glanced over at the bar and caught Magnus' eyes. He gave her a subtle thumbs up. She smiled. As all should be.

It would work out eventually.

 


	3. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> feat. alec being sassy

“I think it might actually help me,” Clary said thoughtfully as she wiped down tables.

“What will?” Isabelle asked as she stacked chairs and straightened the bar out. It was after closing hours and the two were cleaning up while Magnus dealt with the kitchen.

Clary made mock quotation marks with her hands. “'Quitting.'”

“You're quitting?” Alec, Isabelle's brother and Magnus' boyfriend, asked from where he was perched on top of a nearby table, picking at a frayed edge of the red vinyl upholstery on the back of the booth.

“Not actually,” said Isabelle. “Remember, her internship? Magnus doesn't want her job at the bar to make her look bad, so Clary is quitting. But really she's just saying she's quitting, but still working here just in disguise.”

“Sounds complicated. Why don't you just ask if it's okay if you work at the bar as long as it doesn't interfere with the internship?” Ah yes, Alec, always the practical one.

Clary shrugged. “It was Magnus' idea. And seeing as he's running a successful business, I'm going to assume he at least knows something about the field of hard labor. I'm surprised you didn't know. Doesn't he usually run things by you?”

“Yeah,” Alec said, hopping off the table as Clary shooed him away and threatened to fling a dirty towel in his face. “But it doesn't really concern me and I've been busy helping a friend.”

“Oh, right,” Isabelle said. “How's that going?”

“It's all good. Got the whole car thing settled.”

“What car thing?” Clary asked, curiosity piqued.

“A friend of his managed to trash his dad's car a couple weeks ago and he called in Alec—of all people—as a witness to character or something,” Isabelle said, with hints of a chuckle in her voice.

Alec laughed. “No, no,” he assured Clary, who looked suspicious of Isabelle's explanation. “He needed a chauffeur for a week while the car was in the shop because he had some work things to get done. But anyway, how was Magnus' plan going to help you?”

“Oh, right,” Clary said absently. She shrugged again. “I dunno. I just guess that maybe if I'm not going on stage as myself, I won't be as afraid to go up. Like maybe I can pretend to be—what was it Magnus said my name was going to be? Avery? Right—someone else who isn't scared to go on stage. I used to do that when I was a kid—pretend to be someone who was really popular with lots of friends.”

“You didn't have friends when you were a kid?” Isabelle asked.

“I did,” Clary said. “Just not many. I was really shy. I'm still not very outgoing.”

“I was like that too,” Alec said, trying to hop back onto the table that Clary had just finished cleaning. She hit him in the arm with her towel. “Ow! Okay. No table, got it.” He sat in one of the booths nearby, because that way Isabelle wouldn't yell at him about taking one of the chairs down. “Isabelle was always the popular one.”

“Don't complain, Alec. I brought cute boys over, and we both know neither of us were put out by that.” Isabelle piped up from across the room where she was fetching the broom and dustpan. “Now put yourself to use and help me.”

“What about cute boys?” Magnus asked, materializing from the kitchen and beginning to work on cleaning up the bar. “Speaking of, what happened to Jordan?”

“He had a date with his girlfriend and left early. He already put the equipment away though,” Clary informed him.

“Okay, good.” Magnus said. “And Clary, I should have your wig and a few new outfits by tomorrow. The makeup won't be here until Wednesday, though, so we'll have to let Isabelle work some miracles until then.”

“I'm fine with that,” Isabelle said, looking pleased at the idea of getting to play with Clary's appearance on stage. “I'm very fine with that.”

“Izzy, you need to stop. It's getting creepy,” Alec said, standing up straight from where he was crouched on the floor, helping Isabelle with sweeping.

“Fine,” she pouted. “Alec you're not helping with the dustpan.”

Clary listened and laughed and bantered along until the bar was back to its presentable state. She let her mind wander on her taxi ride home to her apartment. She was glad she wasn't actually quitting. She would have missed _The Sparkling Glass_. It may have been a bar, but it was respectable. She found comfort, in an odd paradoxical way, on stage, in the lights and magic of music around her, and the old wooden tables filled with stories, and the sudden, quickfire friendships at the bar. Part of it, Clary thought, perhaps because of Izzy, and Magnus, and Alec, and sometimes Jordan, felt like it was home.

 


	4. First Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> feat. 53 Steps by Rachel Platten

Clary straightened her pencil skirt for what was probably the fiftieth time in the past few minutes, pausing outside the looming building of Herondale Industries to check her appearance in the dark reflection of the glass door. Her hands shook slightly as she worried at the ring on her right hand—silver banded and inscribed with falling stars, given to her by her mom when she turned eighteen—and she prayed to whatever god rule over first days at work that her palms weren't sweaty should she need to shake anyone's hand.

Then, with a deep breath, she opened the door.

Inside, on the first floor, the reception area was filled with the scent of coffee and a lazy work day. The room was serene, with a single patron, magazine in hands, lounging on a couch to Clary's right, snuggled up an indoor plant. The room was tasteful, overall, with warm grays painting the walls, and autumn-colored abstract art against them, and the pretty receptionist behind her desk added to the beauty of the room. It was oddly inviting, Clary thought, but then corrected herself: shouldn't reception areas _be_ inviting? Wasn't that the point?

Realizing she'd been standing there for far too long, Clary hurried over to the receptionist. “Uhm, hi?” she began, but her voice squeaked awkwardly and it came out as more of a question.

The receptionist looked up from her nails, pretty blonde curls bouncing as she moved, and hurried to pause Rachel Platten's _53 Steps_ which was playing on her computer. “Hello,” she said coolly, though without malice. “Can I help you with anything?”

Clary took second to collect herself, soothing her nerves. “My name is Clary—Clarissa Fairchild. I'm here for an internship.”

“Oh!” Recognition flared in the blonde's eyes. “Oh, yes! I'm sorry I didn't realize.” She stood and dug a folder out of one of the many drawers hidden behind the desk. “This is for you Ms. Fairchild,” she said, passing Clary the folder. “Now where did I . . .” She murmured, then her voiced trailed off into an “Oh no.”

“I'm very sorry Miss Fairchild, but I've forgotten to get a ID card ready for you. If you wouldn't mind coming with me to get it, I can show you around at the same time.”

It was then Clary noticed the lanyard with an ID dangling from the receptionist's neck. “Yes, of course,” Clary replied. “Thank you.”

“My name is Camille, by the way. Camille Belcourt. As you could tell, I'm sure, I'm the receptionist here at the main desk.” She started leading Clary past the desk and down a hallway in the back of the room. “If you ever need anything, feel free to ask.”

Clary just nodded.

As they progressed down the hallway, towards the elevators, Camille continued. “There aren't any actual offices on the first floor. There's the main reception area, some small offices that don't belong to anyone meant for private talks, some bathrooms, a storage room, and a tiny break room open to patrons that's just for coffee.”

By now the two were on their way to the fifth floor. Camille explained that the second, third, and fourth floors were all offices for employees that dealt directly with patrons. The other floors they would get to. “You probably won't have to know where everything is,” she said, giving Clary some comfort. She had noticed an outrageous number of buttons on the elevator and nearly panicked. “Just as long as you know how to get to the best coffee machine, where the copy room is, and how to get around your assigned boss's floor pretty well, you should be fine. Though doesn't hurt to know where the important people's offices are.”

Clary nodded dutifully.

“Speaking of, who are you assigned to? It should say in your folder if they didn't tell you already.”

“I wasn't told,” Clary said, then opened the folder. The first page contained her name and other information about her. The blank space under “Other Places of Work” glared at her, but she took a breath and kept looking. Towards the bottom of the page, it said: “Intern Overseer: Jonathon Herondale.”

Camille looked over her shoulder, which wasn't too hard. Even in heels, the blonde receptionist towards over Clary. “Jace?” She said questioningly. “That's odd. What majors are you interested in?”

“Business,” Clary said slowly, “And architecture. Why? Is something wrong?”

“No no,” Camille quickly assured her as she led her way down the main hallway of the fifth floor. “It's just that Jace doesn't usually take interns. In fact, I don't know that he's ever taken one. Perhaps his father made him do so.”

“Why? His father?”

Camille wandered down a hallway without responding, waving at a boy with messy brown hair and a curvy girl with curly hair as they discussed something as she passed by. Suddenly doing a double take, Camille turned back and poked her head in the door and said, “Maia, I need to steal Simon in about 10 minutes,” before she replied to Clary: “You didn't recognize his name? Jace—well, it's technically Jonathon, but he goes by Jace— _Herondale_ is the son of the CEO of Herondale Industries.”

“Oh,” was all Clary said, but her nerves went crazy again. If she screwed up, it meant screwing up in front of someone big, and the pressure was already getting to her.

 


	5. Mr. Herondale Will See You Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> feat. dork simon and hot jace

“It'll be fine,” Camille said, though Clary was currently thinking it was definitely not fine, considering her boss was the CEO's son. “Anyway, the girl I just passed, the one with the dark curly hair, her name is Maia Roberts. She's head of advertising here. Simon is her intern worker. He's been here about six months. Something like that.” They stopped in front of a room with no windows except for the small opening in the heavy wooden door. “This is the head of securities office. It's much less intimidating inside. They usually have donuts.”

Camille knocked and then let herself in. “Mr. Starkweather?” she called into the room. “I need to get an ID card made. New intern.” She opened the door further and let Clary in. She was greeted with the smell of coffee, and, indeed, donuts. The little room had a folding table in the center, and counters along the far wall, and Clary noticed paper towel with a half-eaten donut on it. Camille introduced the man as Hodge Starkweather and presented Clary before him. They shook hands and he had the decency not to wipe any of her sweat off his palm on his pants leg afterward.

“Well, Clarissa, was it? Let's get a picture then. Stand against that wall, will you?”

Clary did as she was told and tried to fix her hair as best she could while Mr. Starkweather set up a camera on a tripod and hooked it up to a card printer. Camille came over and flattened Clary's hair down some. “Thanks,” she whispered just as Mr. Starkweather told her to smile.

Clary obeyed, and she was quite proud with Mr. Starkweather handed her the card and her picture came out decent. She maybe looked a little timid, but not atrocious.

“Not bad,” Camille said approvingly. “Thanks, Starkweather.”

“Thank you,” Clary echoed.

They left and Camille led her back to the elevator and to the sixth floor, explaining that Clary should NOT lose that card because it was her ticket around the building. She also explained that the sixth floor was the most popular because it had the kitchen and best break room.

“When exactly you get lunch depends on Jace, but a good portion of the time, you'll probably want to take it here. You can make your own food here as long as you clean up after yourself, but you might have to fight people for pans or bring your own. You're also welcome to use the refrigerator. There's good coffee here, too, but . . .” Camille leaned closer. “I'll tell you a secret, the best coffee is from the smaller break room on the seventh floor. It's because that floor has all the main meeting room. Best coffee for the best guests.”

Camille straightened and winked at Clary before continuing. “The sixth floor also has the biggest copy room. It's the best maintained. The others tend to jam and no one really pays much attention because there's always the sixth floor as backup.” The blonde led the way and found the boy she'd called for in the copy room. “Oh, Simon! Good. Simon Lewis, this is Clarissa Fairchild. Clarissa, this is Simon.”

The boy with brown hair, dressed in dark pants that seemed to barely fit his skinny frame and a dress shirt, turned and looked over Clary. “You're the new intern?” he said, as if surprised. “Uh, welcome I guess.” He held his hand out and Clary shook it.

“Hi,” she said softly. “You can call me Clary, actually,” she said, to both Simon and Camille. Camille nodded, and opened her mouth to speak, but at that moment, her phone rang.

“Excuse me for a minute,” she said and walked a little ways off, towards the back of the room.

“Uhm,” Clary said, itched for something to fill the lack of words. “How long have you been here?” Camille had already told her, but it was something.

“A little over six months,” Simon said. “I'm guessing this is your first day?”

Clary nodded. Then noticed something and started giggling. “Your . . . Your lanyard. Is that nyan cat?”

“Excuse me?” Simon said, feigning offense, “Nyan cat is very much in style right now, thank you very much.”

Clary laughed more. “Whatever you say.”

“As an intern to the head of advertising here, I have to stay on top of trends, you know.” Simon said, sounded dignified. “I actually have a Lord of the Rings one, too. With the inscription on the One Ring on it.”

Clary laughed, but added, “That's actually pretty cool. Where'd you get it?”

“It was a gift. From a former band mate. I think at the time we were the Savage Lawnmowers. We changed our name a lot.” Simon explained. “He probably got it off the internet somewhere.”

Clary fell silent. The name was familiar. “You wouldn't happened to be talking about Jordan Kyle, would you?”

Simon looked surprised again. “Yeah, how did you—“ But he was cut off as Camille returned.

“Sorry, but I have to run, so I need to take Clary up to Jace's floor.”

“Jace?” Simon asked, then his eyes widened. Realization hit. “Really?”

“We should get going,” Camille stated, and motioned for Clary to follow. She did, throwing a small wave in Simon's direction as they hurried off.

“Jace's office is on the ninth floor. His father's is on the twelfth. There's an observatory and garden on the roof. It's enclosed, so I guess technically it's the thirteenth floor. The eighth, tenth, and eleventh floors are a mixture of offices and meeting rooms.”

Clary felt trepidation settle in her stomach as the elevator brought them up to floor nine. The doors opened to a small reception area. What Clary could only assume was a secretary’s desk waited patiently for its owner's return. Camille walked past the desk and knocked on a large wooden door with a golden nameplate that read “J. Herondale” on it. She didn't let herself in this time.

There was silence for a moment, and then, in a deep voice: “Come in.”

Camille entered and ushered Clary forward. “Your intern is here.”

J. Herondale sat at a large mahogany desk. He looked confident. He should be, Clary thought, he's the son of the CEO. His golden hair was tousled in a beautiful sort of way that must have just _been_. There was no creating that much perfection on purpose. His eyes, liquid amber, blinked in confusion for a minute as he looked over Clary. “My intern? Oh, oh yes.”

“Kaelie,” he said her name like an order and for the first time Clary noticed the other girl in the room, standing to the side of Jace's desk. “Leave us alone please.”

“Of course, Jace,” Kaelie said, white-blonde hair flowing behind her. Her ice blue eyes flashed as she passed Clary, a too-sweet smile on her lips.

“I'll leave you to it, Mr. Herondale. I have to go upstairs, then get back to work,” Camille said. She turned and left before Clary could even plead with her to stay. The door closed with a resolute thud that trapped Clary in the room.

“So, Miss . . . Fairchild, was it?” Jace Herondale began. “Welcome to Herondale Industries. Apparently I'll be your boss while you're here.” He rose and leaned against the front of his desk. “I'll have something, some sort of desk, set up in here for you. My secretary, the girl who was in here, is Kaelie. She can help you with anything if I'm not here. I share this floor with a meeting room, and if I have clients in here, I'll have to ask you to move your workspace to there while I deal with them. Got it?”

Clary nodded.

“I take lunch from twelve to one, usually, so you can have off then, too, but both I and Kaelie are out during that time, so, if you need anything, you'll have to ask someone else. I'll have your ID given permission into any room on this floor so you can get in and out as you please, so long as you don't mess anything up. Are we clear?”

“Crystal,” Clary said, glad her voice didn't crack under Jace's heavy gaze.

“Good,” Jace said, and he ran his eyes across her once more. His gaze burned, golden optics alone setting Clary's nerves on fire. Would this be what meeting every new boss would feel like? Or just the really hot ones?

 


	6. Thus It Begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> feat. simon and jace snarks also kaelie is mean sadface  
> also I feel like these first few chapters are an absolute mess. I promise it gets better. I think.

“We'll get you an actual chair later,” Jace Herondale said, eying the makeshift desk in the corner of his office. It was a scavenged table from one of the storage rooms, which was fine, but for seating Clary had a half-broken metal folding chair. The pair had spent the last hour or so finding supplies for her. At first, Clary felt bad about taking Mr. Herondale away from his office, but as she started apologizing, he insisted that he needed the break anyway.

“Technically it's a real chair,” Clary said.

“Yeah, but a crappy one,” he returned. “We'll go to an office store and buy you a decent one tomorrow. After lunch.”

“You don't need to spoil me. This is fine already.”

“With those legs, you deserve to be spoiled,”

With that bomb dropped into the conversation, Clary went silent. Her blush replied for her. She was used to getting all sorts of compliments, savory or not (mostly not), at the bar, but this was different. The environment was different, for one. The men, maybe.

It was while she was debating how to reply, her boss burst into laughter. “You don't take compliments well, do you, Red? You look like a trapped mouse.”

Clary made an angry huffing noise. “Well, what am I supposed to say? You're my boss and it's my first day. It's a little disconcerting, to say the least, Mr. Herondale.”

He cringed. “Clarissa, please. Call me Jace.”

“But you're my boss,” Clary insisted.

“Mr. Herondale is my father, and I am _not_ him. Jace will do.”

Clary watched him, half-glaring. “Fine,” she conceded. “But then you have to call me Clary. Not Red.”

“You got it, Red,” Jace purred, and winked at her. As he sat down, he said, “Go get me some coffee, will you? You know where the good one is, right?”

“Seventh floor,” Clary replied.

“Good girl,” Jace said. “And tell Kaelie to come in, please.”

Clary left and as she passed Kaelie's desk, informed her: “Jace wants you in his office.”

Kaelie smirked. “Of course he does,” she said, voice dripping with acid.

Clary wondered what exactly she'd done to Jace's secretary in the first few hours she'd been here. She concluded that it wasn't anything she'd directly done to the woman, and was therefore in the clear in that respect. But then came the task of getting on Kaelie's good side. Clary didn't want enemies.

On her way into the break room on the seventh floor, Clary ran into Simon.

“Oh, hey,” he said, juggling three cups of coffee and a bag of chips. “How's the boss?”

“Okay, I guess,” Clary replied. “He's not mean or anything.”

“You're pretty, of course he wouldn't be mean to you. He hates me.”

Clary laughed. “You're not an eyesore, though.”

“Thanks. But I'm not his type.”

“Am I his type?” Clary asked curiously. Was that why she got the internship?  
  
Simon shrugged, almost dropping the bag of chips. “You're a girl, aren't you? Jace likes those.”

Clary laughed. And Simon spoke again: “Hey, a friend of mind has a gig sort of thing at a bar tonight, do you wanna join us?”

Clary almost said yes immediately, grateful for the inclusion, then remembered she had work at _The Sparkling Glass_ that night. “Sorry, I can't. I have plans with a friend,” the lie slipped off her tongue. “Maybe next time?”

“Sure,” Simon said. “Maybe coffee sometime?”

“That sounds good,” Clary said. “Speaking of, you should get going before those coffees get cold.”

Simon cursed. “Yeah, I should. I'll see you around.”

He scurried off, leaving Clary to get Jace's coffee.

When Clary returned to Jace's office, the ferocity of angry voices halted her in her tracks before she could open the door. She stood, unsure what to do, and caught snippets of the conversation:

“What do you mean . . . That's it? It's because of her, isn't it?”

“It's not because of the intern, Kaelie. It's—” Jace's voice cut off and lowered, and Clary couldn't hear the rest.

Clary heard Kaelie curse, and then silence. Clary scurried out of the way of the door. Kaelie bolted out, stomping into the elevator. She didn't even acknowledge Clary.

Clary caught the door before it closed. “I brought your coffee,” she said softly. “I don't know how you like it so I brought sugar and cream too.”

Jace looked up from where he was studying his desk intently, hands pressed together in frustration. “Right now, I'll take it black, but for future reference, I like two creams.”

“Okay,” Clary said and brought the cup to him, dropping the extra coffee condiments on her desk. She perched awkwardly on her chair, unsure what to do. Silence ensued, then, finally, Jace spoke.

“I guess you heard some of that?”

“Just the end.”

“Whatever she's pissed about,” he said, “It's not your fault. You're scared enough in your own skin, I don't need you blaming yourself for things too.”

Clary nodded.

Jace then pulled out his phone and called someone. “Yes, Father? I'd like to discuss a transfer of secretaries.” A pause. “Well, you should have seen it coming, then.” Another pause. “Fine. I'll find someone.”

Jace set the phone down. “Clary, how would you like to be promoted?”

Clary looked surprised. “To secretary? But I'm supposed to be training in business.”

“You can continue that. But I want to move Kaelie to another head of department, mostly because I don't want to deal with her antics anymore in all honesty, and I don't have anyone else. It wouldn't have to be very long if you don't like it.”

“Can I keep my desk in here and still get my own chair?” It was for purely educational purposes. Only that. Nothing more.

Jace raised an eyebrow suggestively. “Sure,” he said. “I didn't know you liked me that much already.”

Clary made a face. “You said I could keep learning. So deal.”

Jace smirked, devilish and perfect. His eyes shone like a wildcat about to feast. “Oh, there's a lot I can teach you, Red.”

Clary took a deep breath as Jace called his father back to solidify the change of secretaries. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all.

 


	7. Mirror Girl

For the past few hours, Clary suffered through Isabelle's brushes and makeup and giggles until the dark-haired girl announced, “Done! It'll be shorter next time, I promise.”

Clary looked at herself in the mirror, suddenly wondering who was blinking back at her. Her red hair had been turned brown, by some dark magic or wig or something of that sort, and it now reached her waist, rather than her shoulder blades. Her eyebrows were darkened, and her eye makeup made her peridot eyes turn emerald dark. Her features, made sharper and more angular by skillfully applied bronzer made her feel like an amazonian woman. Clary had always thought she still had the girlish face of a child, but now she felt fierce and ready to take on the world. But it wasn't Clary.

She didn't feel like herself, watching in the mirror. It was a doppleganger, some sort of evil twin that had stolen bits and pieces of Clary and twisted them—the shape of her nose, the blush of her cheeks, the red of her lips. Now everything was new. She felt a stirring her heart that was a mourning of her own self. She new she could go back after a warm shower, washing off all the makeup, but that wasn't the point. This was it. No more Clary. Now it was Avery.

“She's—“ Clary began, then broke off. It was her. When the woman in the mirror blinked, it was because she blinked. “I'm . . . ? Beautiful.”

“I did good, huh?” Isabelle sat back and admired her handiwork.

“Yeah, you did good,” Clary said.

“Now for clothes.” She began rummaging through the probably hundreds of costumes and articles of clothing meant for the various getups they needed to somehow pull off.

“What's tonight?”

“Cowgirls,” Isabelle said, sounding put off. “Too bad, too. I would've liked you debut to be in a dress. But I guess we can only get some things we want in life.”

“Is that why Magnus wanted me to sing Carrie Underwood or Taylor Swift?”

“Yeah,” Isabelle said. “Here.” She tossed Clary some tiny shorts and a thin white button-up shirt. “Tie it.” Clary slipped off her clothes and changed into the ones Izzy had thrown at her. It took a while, but by now Clary and Isabelle were comfortable enough with each other that any state of undress was worth nothing more than a “Damn, you look fine” or a “Nice bra.”

When Clary was done, with the bottom of the button-up tied in a knot so that it showed off her stomach, she examined herself in the mirror. Isabelle came to join her, wearing a black tube top and an open red button-up shirt and similar jean shorts, as well as an outrageously decorated leather belt. “I think you need either a prettier bra or a tube top.”

“Tube top,” Clary said immediately. She'd tried borrowing underwear from Isabelle before. It didn't go well. Isabelle went back to digging through the clothes. “We have cowboy boots lying around somewhere, right?”

“Yeah, but Magnus bought us some new ones. In his office,” Isabelle replied from inside the closet.

Clary took off her button-up shirt while she waited for Isabelle and threw a sweater over her head and padded in socked feet over to his office, across the hallway from their dressing room. She entered Magnus's office without knocking and was greeted by the sight of Magnus pinning Alec to the wall, peppering kisses along his neck and jaw. Neither had noticed her walking in, and Clary swiftly grabbed the two pairs of boots, yelled “Gettin' it!” at the two of them and rushed out the door. As it closed behind her, she heard Alec's mortified squeak and Magnus' laughter.

Clary came back into the dressing room breathless with laughter, barely managing to respond to Isabelle's questioning gaze: “I think your brother hates me.”

 


	8. Introducing Avery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> feat. Girl at Home by Taylor Swift and Cowboy Cassnova by Carrie Underwood

It took the two of them another fifteen minutes to get ready, with five of those minutes devoted to laughing after Magnus walked into the dressing room, locked eyes with Clary, and said “You bet I am,” in response to her earlier exclamation at him, and left. But they were finally stage ready.

Isabelle went out first, to a loud cheer, and introduced Clary by her new stage name.

“Now I know you all miss our previous star—I mean, she lit a fire in all of our hearts, right?—but trust me when I say our newest performer is just as talented, and just as pretty. Let me introduce: Avery!”

Clary took a deep breath and ran onstage. “Hello everyone!” There was a softer cheer than for Isabelle. That was fine. The night was young. There weren't even that many customers yet—only a few guys crowded around a booth; a scruffy-looking blonde man in a suit at the bar; a table of mixed company directly in front of the stage; Izzy's boyfriend, Sebastian, tucked into the corner; and a blond girl sitting by herself a few tables away. “Tonight really is Isabelle's night—she exemplifies a cowgirl much better than I think I ever will—but I will be singing for you some, and the rest of the time I'll be working at the bar, so feel free to come over and say 'hi'!”

Isabelle waved and left the stage, going off to confer with Magnus at the bar, and Clary began her first performance as Avery: _Girl at Home_ by Taylor Swift, which did bring out some more cheers as more alcohol was passed around, and a couple more people entered. In a moment, it would be Isabelle's turn to sing Carrie Underwood's _Cowboy Casanova._

As Clary stood behind the now-empty bar (the man by himself had left as she finished her performance), polishing some shot glasses, the door opened as in stepped a lion. She nearly dropped the shot glass when she saw Jace walk in. Alec, who was hovering in the hallway leading off to the employee areas, looked up and brightened, sauntering over to meet Jace. They embraced, in the most bro-like way they could, and Alec invited Jace over to the bar for a drink. Clary internally panicked. If Jace recognized her, she was done for, and it was only the first night.

She turned from the bar just as Alec began leading Jace over, and would've been able to slip away into the employees-only area if she hadn't run into Magnus, who was coming out of his office to ruin Clary's life with his unfortunate timing.

Magnus steadied her before she could bounce off his chest and onto the floor. “Cl—Avery?”

“Magnus,” Clary hissed, “My boss is here.”

“What?” Magnus said, looking over her. Or rather, looking straight ahead. Even with heeled boots, Clary did nothing to impair anyone's vision. “Where?”

“The blonde. At the bar, with Alec.”

“The hot one?”

“Yes.” Clary said, then flustered: “I mean—Yeah, I guess.”

Magnus laughed. “Relax. I trust Isabelle did a good enough job with the makeup and hair, and he's only known you for a day. You'll be fine. Go serve them.”

“If I get caught in the lie, then it'll be worse than working at the bar and being upfront about it.” Clary looked over her shoulder at Jace and Alec, who were chatting while waiting for someone to offer them something to drink.

“Just go,” Magnus encouraged. “I need to check on the stage equipment anyway while Izzy plays, so you're the only one left to serve anyway.”

“I could do the stage.”

“You can't reach half of the microphone settings,” he deadpanned.

“Fine,” Clary huffed, and stalked towards the bar. She took a deep breath and hoped for the best. Swallowing her fear and putting all faith in Isabelle's disguise, she went to greet the two at the bar. “What can I get for you both?” she asked, trying to sound as inviting as possible.

Alec blinked at her, obviously not realizing who it was, then his eyes widened, stunned into silence. With Alec's hesitation, Jace replied. “I'll just take a beer.”

“Alright,” Clary said. So far, so good. As long as Alec could keep his mouth shut. That boy was bad with secrets, though.

“Uhm, I'll just have a coke,” he managed eventually, to which Jace began protesting.

“Nonsense!” he cried. “You let me drag you and your car all around the city last week. I will not be buying you just a coke.” Then, to Clary: “Scratch the coke. He'll have the finest alcohol you have.”

“You don't need to, Jace, really,” Alec said, but Clary was already getting beers for the pair.

She placed the drinks in front of them, heavy glasses hitting the bar with a thud. “Here you go boys.”

“Thanks,” Jace said, and immediately took a swig out of the glass. Clary retreated from the bar and went around the room, refilling glasses and bringing extra ice to patrons, but her attention remained on Alec and Jace.

As she made her way back to the bar, Isabelle came on stage, beginning her _Cowboy Casanova_ performance. Meanwhile, Magnus had emerged from the stage and went over to Alec, drawing him away from Jace and to the backstage area. Clary made it just in time to hear: “Sorry, technical difficulties and the like. I'm sure Avery can keep you company while Alec's gone,” from Magnus.

Damn him.

Clary returned to the bar, flashing the best smile she could manage at Jace. She was in the middle of focusing on wiping down the bar (and very much _not_ thinking about the pout of Jace's lips or the flash of his golden eyes) when Jace said, “You look familiar.”

Fear spiked its way down Clary's spine, turning her stomach to mush. It's okay, she told herself, play it off. He doesn't know. He can't know. She looked up, ran her eyes over him, and then retorted coolly, “You probably saw me in your dreams.”

“You're right,” Jace replied without missing a beat. “I was dreaming of an angel.”

“Then maybe God sent me to remind you that lust is one of the seven deadly sins.”

“Or maybe it was Satan sending me temptation.” He finished his drink. Clary didn't know how to reply. Jace motioned at her with his glass. “Do I get one on the house for leaving you speechless?”

“You won't get free drinks from me just for being hot,” Clary quipped.

“Excuse me?” Jace said, feigning offense. “I am stunningly attractive.”

“Well, at least stunningly haughty.” Clary refilled his glass.

“Hottie? Yes, I'm glad you agree.”

Damn. “No. Haughty. H-a-u-g—“

“Jace!” Alec said, rejoining him at the bar and cutting Clary off. “Look, I know you're not at work right now, and I'm sorry, but Magnus would like to ask you a couple things. Do you want to join us in the office?”

Jace sighed softly. “Well. As long as it's kept PG-rated. The last time I went in there. . . I saw things I cannot unsee.” He took one last long swig of beer from his glass and then followed Alec into Magnus's office.

 


	9. The Plot Begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> feat. a very pitifully short chapter for which I am sorry

Clary had thankfully avoided Jace for the rest of the night, and after he returned from Magnus's office, she had seen him chatting up Isabelle, who was running the bar at the time. It had given Clary some relief to know he wasn't just picking on her. At least, she thought she felt relieved. At the same time, she wasn't sure how she felt about that, considering it meant Jace was pretty much out of the question if she wanted anyone loyal. No. Nonono. Jace was completely out of the question because he was her boss. Completely. Out. Of. The. Question.

It wasn't until the bar was closed and Clary had washed the makeup off her face and taken off the wig that Magnus explained what was going on with Jace and why he had needed to talk with him. She was wiping down tables when Magnus approached her with:

“I'm sorry, Clary.”

Clary, puzzled, looked up and studied Magnus. “For what?”

“For the deal with Jace. Look . . . Well, I'll just explain the whole thing.” Magnus grabbed and nearby chair and sat backwards on it, leaning his arms on the backrest. “I was intending to remodel the bar sometime, get some general improvements, because, well, in all honesty parts of this place are pretty crappy. Originally I was just going to get a few things done. A couple of repairs, maybe a new bar. But when I went to Herondale Industries, they offered me a deal.

“They'd give me a full renovation for a very good price in exchange for free use of the bar for business functions. Apparently this place is classy enough that it's considered more of a popular convention center with adult drinks than a bar. It was a good deal. I wasn't going to turn them down. They sent Jace to work out all the kinks of the contract, and basically oversee the whole operation. I didn't know he'd be your boss. I figured you'd get some lower-level underling to oversee your work.” Magnus sighed. “I'm sorry, Clary. I made you set up this disguise thing, and then I ended up dragging more danger into your situation.”

Clary thought for a moment, processing the new information. He was right, the bar did need some work, and Clary wasn't going to blame Magnus for future possibilities that he couldn't foresee when he signed up for the deal. “It's okay, Magnus. I know you were just trying to help.”

“You should quit here. For real. I'll still pay you what I can. It's my fault, after all,” Magnus said apologetically.

Clary recoiled. “No! I don't want to stop working here,” she insisted. “I'll tough it out, Magnus. It's just an internship. If I can't keep up the disguise. . . well I'll figure it out. I don't need you to fix things for me.”

Magnus faintly smiled, almost sadly. “Thanks Clary. Really. I'll do what I can.” He rose, replaced the chair, and wandered towards his office.

All Clary needed to do was keep it up.

And this was only the first day. Oh boy.

 


	10. Lunch Date pt. I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> feat. Crazy Beautiful by Andy Grammar

“That smells good,” Simon said, letting himself into Jace's office.

Clary whirled from where she was making use of Jace's personal microwave. Jace had already left for lunch and the office was all hers. “What are you doing here?”  
  
“I figured we could eat lunch together,” he said, “Being fellow interns and all.”

“Oh, sure,” Clary said, returning to the microwave.

“You didn't come to the kitchen ever, though, so I came up here to check on you,” he informed her, shrugging.

Clary brought her food, leftover chicken and rice, to her desk. “I was too scared to go downstairs,” she admitted. “I'm not really good at mingling. I figured I'd be less awkward up here.”

“It's okay. I'm pretty awkward myself, nyan cat lanyard and all.” Simon walked out and brought Kaelie's old desk chair and set himself up on the opposite side of Clary's desk. “I'm a bit surprised I found you here.”

“What? Why?” Clary said around a mouth full of rice.

“I figured Jace would've taken you out to lunch by now.”

“No, he had business. He offered to take me tomorrow. We _are_ going out to buy a chair when he comes back, though.”

“What did you tell him?”

“About lunch? I said no. But I told him he could bring me back Starbucks if he felt like it.”

“You are brave, writing Jace off like that.”

“I swear to God if you start calling me Merida, I'll burn your collector's edition Lord of the Rings set.”

“Okay, okay,” Simon said holding his hands up defensively. “No Pixar references. Got it.”

“No Little Mermaid remarks either,” Clary said pointing her fork at him threateningly. She had finished her chicken and rice and had pulled an orange out of her purse and was peeling it with the fork.

Simon began closing up the Tupperware containers that he'd brought his food in, and Clary, noticing the rather elegant handwriting labeling the boxes as his, inquired: “Did someone make your food for you?” She offered him an orange slice.

Simon took it. “Yeah, my sister. She's in town for the next two weeks. Why?”

“Pretty handwriting,” she said, motioning vaguely at the Tupperware. “Figured it wasn't yours. Too nice.”

“Yeah. She's pretty motherly, I guess. My mom took my dad's death pretty hard a while back. Rebecca kind of took care of me while my mom got back on her feet.” Simon looked thoughtful.

“Sorry,” Clary said. “I didn't mean to bring something like that up.”

“Oh, no,” Simon quickly replied. “It was my fault. It's all good now. Mom's good on her own, Becky visits from art school every once in a while and makes great food for me. Pretty good life, I'd say.”

Clary was just finishing her orange when her phone rang, the tune of Andy Grammar's _Crazy Beautiful_ informing Clary that it was Isabelle calling. “Hold on, Simon, I'll be right back.” She grabbed her phone and held it with her shoulder while she wandered out of Jace's office to the bathrooms to wash the orange juice off her hands.

“Yeah, Iz?” she greeted.

“You're at lunch, right?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“I need you stop by that vintage store again.”

“The one you're banned from?”

“Shush. We don't talk about that.” Isabelle sighed. “But yeah, we need short corsets. For in a few weeks.”

“Okay,” Clary said. As she was walking out of the bathroom, she saw Jace come out of the elevator and walk back toward his office. “Crap,” she muttered, “Simon.”

“What?” Isabelle seemed to shrug her off. “Well whatever, just grab them before you get to work.”

“Yeah,” Clary promised. She hurried back to the office, following Jace. She paused and grabbed a random folder from Kaelie's clutter of a desk and stuffed some blank paper in it.”Simon,” she said, coming into the room before Jace could get after him. “I got those papers you needed.”

Simon, looking scared at Jace's sudden appearance, froze for a second, then caught on. “Right, yes. Thanks Clary.”

Simon met her at the door and took the folder. Before he left the office completely, he looked at her timidly. “Coffee tomorrow, maybe?”

Surprised, Clary was shocked into a “Sure.”

“Okay,” Simon said, looking relieved. “Thanks.”

Clary didn't see the anger flash in Jace's eyes as she closed the door behind Simon. She turned and met her boss's smoldering golden irises. Held in place by his gaze, she stood, holding her breath.

“What was that about?” he asked.

Clary panicked for a moment, but the adrenaline through her veins kept her brain moving quickly. “A-A friend of his. Wanted to apply for an internship. I was letting him borrow my application and stuff, for reference.”

“Right,” Jace said, and Clary let a soft breath release from her lungs. She glanced over to her desk and realized Simon had left his Tupperware containers on her desk. She casually made her way over to the desk as Jace leaned against his, but froze in her tracks when he muttered, “I meant about the coffee.”

Clary turned, blinking. “What?”

“Nothing,” Jace said. He looked up. “Ready to go chair shopping?”

Clary took a deep breath to steady herself. “Yeah, yeah sure.” She swept the Tupperware into her purse and hoisted it onto her shoulder, quickly following Jace to the bottom floor. She waved at Camille, who smiled in return, as they passed.

 


	11. Spoiled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> feat. Dangerous Woman by Ariana Grande

“We can take my car,” Jace said, leading her around the side of the building to the staff parking.

And then, opening her big mouth before she could stop herself, Clary said: “Isn't it your dad's car?” If she hadn't just put her job in jeopardy, she might have been more proud of belittling Jace's huge ego.

Jace turned at blinked at her, pausing from opening the car door. “Yeah, technically. How did you know know that?”

“Lucky guess,” Clary quickly said. She busied herself getting into the car to hide her embarrassed blush. She mentally scolded herself for putting her foot in her mouth like that.

Jace glanced over at her, puzzled, before deciding he should leave it be, and started the car. Almost immediately, Ariana Grande's _Dangerous Woman_ started blaring out of the radio. It was Jace's turn to be embarrassed. He cursed and then scrambled to shut the music off.

Clary, watching him flail, started laughing. “Really?”

Flustered, he avoided meeting her eyes and instead focused on backing the car out of the parking spot. “I swear, that wasn't me. The repair people must have changed the station.”

“Uh-huh,” Clary said sarcastically. “It's okay, Jace. Not every man has to hate girly songs.”

“It's not girly,” Jace argued, meeting her eyes, and then caught himself. He went back to looking straight ahead and drove on in silence, except for Clary occasionally laughing at him.

As they were pulling into the parking lot of the office store, Clary commented, “It's not a bad song.”

By now, Jace had regained his composure. “Well define 'bad.' 'Cause I can think of a few bad things to do that are definitely implied by that song.” He smirked when Clary avoided his gaze.

The shopping was done pretty quick. Clary found a rather inexpensive, but comfy rolling desk chair that she claimed as perfect. Jace tried to convince her to look at the more expensive ones, but she'd already agreed to buying the chair in the first place without a fight, so this was the best he was going to get out of her. As they were leaving, Jace carrying the chair out the door, the cashier, a pretty dark-haired girl, caught Clary by the arm.

“Is he your boyfriend?” she asked, eying Jace.

Clary laughed. “He's my boss.”

“Oh, cool,” the girl said, and handed her a piece of paper. “Give him this?”

Clary shrugged, and caught up to Jace, who was waiting in the doorway, screwing with the automatic doors.

“Stop playing,” she said jokingly. She waved the paper at him, aware he didn't have a hand to take it. “The cashier wanted me to give this to you. I'm assuming its her number, since she asked if you were my boyfriend.”

“Should have said yes,” Jace said.

Clary willed herself not to blush. Or involuntarily respond at all. “What? Why?”

“Because if we go anywhere, ever, there will always be someone asking you that. I _am_ stunningly attractive.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Clary waved him off. She'd heard it before.

Jace glanced at her, surprised by her disinterest. “Anyway, what does it say?” He set the chair down outside the car and dug around in his pockets for his keys.

“'Alicia Jones,'” Clary read, followed by the girl's number. Jace put the chair in the trunk. Clary handed him the paper. He immediately crumpled it a threw into the trunk.

“That's it?” Clary asked. She looked into the trunk, and found there were more than one scraps of paper waiting to be acknowledged. “Wow.”

“Yeah. I get those a lot.”

As they were getting into the car, Clary noticed the vintage store Isabelle had told her to go to across the street. She hadn't realized they were so close. It would be convenient to get it done now.

Jace followed her gaze. Apparently she stared too long. “Do you want to stop there? We took a much shorter time in the office store than I expected. We can. If you want.”

Clary shook her head, but Jace was having none of it. “Get in,” he said, and Clary obeyed.

They drove across the street, which involved lots of Jace complaining about cars being in the way, to which Clary always reminded him that it _was_ a street and cars were _supposed_ to be there. Jace was also having none of that.

When they survived crossing the street, Jace told her to get out and come inside with him.

“Really, Jace, I don't really want to go,” she insisted, but she got out of the car anyway.

“Yes, you do,” Jace said, leading her into the store.

“Fine, but you have to make me a deal.”

“Anything.”

“You're not allowed to question what I buy.”

“Okaaay,” Jace said, somewhat skeptical.

“Okay,” Clary said. She weaved her way through Victorian dresses and walking canes to find a series of corsets. She found a deep red one with black threading and lace for Isabelle and found a blue one with black lace covering it for herself. She already knew the sizes. That was it, in and out. That was the plan until Clary saw the pair of Victorian-style boots by the register.

Jace, once again, followed her gaze. Clary's hesitation gave her away again. Jace picked up the lace-up vintage boots and asked, “What size are you?”

“Seven.”

“Perfect,” Jace said, and placed them on the counter. He motioned for her to put the corsets on the counter. He began to pay the cashier.

“No,” Clary said, “You're not allowed this time. Stop it.”

“The only part of the deal was that I couldn't ask questions. You said nothing about paying.”

“I'll leave,” Clary threatened, but stayed rooted to the ground, angrily huffing at Jace's shoulder. He turned and lifted the bags in a salute, and started walking out the door. Clary stormed after him.

In the car, she glared at him. She sighed, still angry, but unable to disregard the bag that Jace had left between their seats. Grudgingly, she said: “Thank you, Jace. But you really didn't have to.”

“I know,” he said, pulling out of the parking space and heading towards Herondale Industries. “Consider it a bribe. I buy you assorted gifts, and you don't tell anyone about me liking Ariana Grande.”

“Fine,” Clary agreed. “Deal.”

 


	12. Lunch Date pt. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> feat. Mz. Hyde by Halestorm

The week passed before Clary had even realized what day it was. The end of the work week crept up upon her, but it was not unwelcome. She'd, albeit narrowly, avoided Jace's invitations to lunch, partly on her personal account that she'd rather spend her break getting to know Simon, who was very much more her equal and very much not her boss.

She lasted until Friday.

A mixture of circumstances dictated her acceptance to Jace's lunch invitation. The first was that Isabelle had requested Clary pack lunch for her—she was going to some conference of some sort, something about business, and needed to bring her own food—and in the rush of the morning to get to Izzy's before work, Clary had accidentally left her own lunch on the counter of her apartment. Secondly Jace had insisted he needed to discuss some work stuff with her. Lastly was that he had been getting deliciously irresistible the more Clary tried to avoid him.

So Clary agreed, and Jace took her to a rather informal diner called Taki's that he absolutely swore by, as long as one knew what to order. As they walked through the front door, they were greeted by the welcome of a cheerful girl behind the counter and the radio softly playing _Mz. Hyde_ by Halestorm. Jace led Clary to a booth in the corner and they sat across from each other.

The girl who had greeted them, a blonde who looked to be perhaps eighteen, came to serve them, passing out menus. “Hi,” she said sweetly, “My name's Maureen, and I'll be your waitress today. Would you like some time to look over the drinks menu, or would you rather order now?”

“I'll take a Dr. Pepper,” Jace supplied, as an answer.

Clary followed with a “Water, please.”

“Alright,” Maureen said, “I'll be right back with those.”

Once she left, Jace said, “I recommend the nachos, but the burgers here are really good too. Never order the tuna. I swear it was raw when I tried it.”

“I'll remember that,” Clary said, and then decided she'd go with classic. “I think I'll just have a burger.”

Maureen returned, bringing their beverages, and then offered to take their order. She jotted down Jace's nachos with no olives, and Clary's hamburger before trouncing away.

To fill the silence in the air, Clary asked, “So do you take all of your dates here?”

“No, just the secretaries,” Jace said sarcastically. Then: “Is this a date?”

“Well, if you take all your secretaries here, then it's not anything special,” she shot back.

Jace gave up, shrugging. “Fair enough.” He watched her for a moment, seeming to look through her rather than at her, and Clary let the silence stretch. Finally, Jace sighed. “Look, I know this is sudden, but will you come with me to a staff function tonight?”

“What?” Clary blinked at him.

“My dad wants to flaunt his power and show off the company tonight by having a staff party of the fancy dress variety. Which is . . . boring, to say the least. But I need a date—”

“Why?” Clary interjected.

“Why what?”

“Why do you need a date?”

“I have appearances to keep up.”

Clary's anger flared. “I will not be some prop to boost your ego,” she growled, but Maureen, their waitress, interrupted her fury by bringing the food.

“Not like that,” Jace said. “Sorry. It's been a long week. I didn't mean it like that.”

Clary paused, about to take a bite of her hamburger. “Are you actually apologizing?”

“Uh, yes?” Jace said, looking puzzled.

And as she watched her boss, head tilted to the side in confusion, be actually sincere, rather than cocky and sarcastic, Clary couldn't help but fall just the tiniest bit in love. What can she say, she gave him a pity point. But he wouldn't win that easily.

“So what appearance exactly do you need to keep up?”

“Well, usually, I take my secretary to these sorts of things. Not necessarily as a _date,_ although, now that I think about it, they always have been before. Anyway. Just that I'm involved in staff affairs.” Jace took a bite out of a chip. “Besides, it's awkward to be there alone.”

Clary looked thoughtful for a moment. “Fine. I'll go.”

Jace perked up slightly. “Really?”

She nodded. “Yeah.”

“I'll pick you up at 7 then?” Jace said.

“Oh no,” Clary said, shaking her head. “I'll be there. I don't want you knowing where I live. You'll show up randomly at my house and refuse to leave, knowing you.” She took a sip of water.

“That was one time,” Jace said, rolling his eyes dramatically.

Clary almost did a spit take. Coughing slightly, she croaked, “What?”

“I'm joking,” Jace said, cracking a smirk. She glared at him.

“I'll meet you there.”

 


	13. Woolsey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> feat. an apologetic author for such a short chapter and slow update so double update today

Clary had met Simon on her way back into work, and discovered that he, too, had been instructed to come to the party that evening. He wasn't invited as a date, but he was told that there would be free food, and if nothing else, the broke college student in him simply could not resist. So Clary had Simon pick her up. He was in a button-down and slacks, but refused to wear a jacket.

“You look stunning,” Simon said as she stepped out of his car and towards the front doors of Herondale Industries. Clary had to admit, Simon was right. After working at the bar for so long, doing performances, Clary knew how to dress herself up (but still not as well as Isabelle did).

The slinky green dress that Clary wore matched her eyes, and golden threads were woven into it so that it sparkled whenever they caught the light. The dress covered the front of her completely, coming up to rest snug against the hollow of her throat, but was cut out to reveal the length of her back. Or perhaps the short of her back. Even in silver heels, Clary didn't have a lot of height to her.

In fact, when Jace came to greet her as she walked in, she only came up to his chin.

“You look great,” Jace said, and swept her away so quickly that she could only send Simon a glance over her shoulder before they were lost in the crowd. As he tugged her along, he hissed in her ear, “Have you met my father?”

“No . . ?” Clary said, rather confused at this point. “Why?”

“Because he's here, but not for long, and I'd rather avoid confrontation with him if possible,” Jace said. Jace paused in his escape to greet a scruffy- and vaguely familiar-looking businessman whom Jace referred to as Woolsey.

“Why, hello! If it isn't Jace Herondale himself, gracing us with his presence,” Woolsey said, a smirk that rivaled Jace's playing on his lips. He brandished a glass full of what seemed to be some sort of alcohol at Jace in greeting. “Ah, and who is this?” his eyes danced to Clary, and he extended his hand. “Woolsey Scott, communications manager for Herondale Industries. Lovely to make your acquaintance.”

“Clarissa Fairchild,” Clary said, taking his hand firmly. “Nice to meet you.”

Jace grinned at the man. “It's great to see you, Woolsey. I'm sorry I cannot talk long. Since my father is going to the meeting with you all, I have to make sure the party continues smoothly. Please excuse myself and my companion.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Woolsey said, and waved a dismissive hand at Jace. “Carry on.” He began moving towards the door, but not before sending Clary a sly wink.

As Clary and Jace moved towards the edges of the reception room, where the party was being held, she realized that the initial wave of people Jace had dragged her through were only at the doorway. Glancing over the crowd, Clary found that it circled around a blonde man who's blue eyes flashed when the light hit them. He made a sweeping gesture and led them out the front door, a mass of suits and the occasional party dress.

“Whew,” Jace said, breathing what seemed to be a sigh of relief. “Glad we avoided that mess.” He set his shoulders and looked at her seriously. “Now. Would you like some fruit punch?”

 


	14. Like a Woman Scorned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> feat. Pacify Her by Melanie Martinez and Imagination by Shawn Mendes

The party did in fact proceed to run smoothly under Jace's watch. That was, until Clary went for her second glass of fruit punch. Somehow, for the first hour or so, Clary had managed to avoid Kaelie. But now, the other girl, dress shorter than her temper, approached Clary with confidence in her step. Clary looked up from her glass, and stopped humming along to Melanie Martinez's _Pacify Her_ that was playing gently over the intercom.

“Hello, Kaelie,” Clary said, without malice.

Kaelie's icy eyes narrowed. “He's not yours, you know,” she hissed.

“Excuse me?” Clary said, puzzled.

“I said, he doesn't like you,” she growled.

“Who?”

“Don't play dumb,” Kaelie stepped closer, using her height to try to intimidate Clary. “Jace.”

“Kaelie, I hate to break it to you, but I don't think Jace belongs to anyone,” Clary said coolly. Speak of the devil, and he appears. Clary's gaze flickered over Kaelie's shoulder to where Jace was approaching from. It was in that moment when Clary was distracted that Kaelie grabbed her glass of fruit punch and dumped it over the front of her dress.

Clary gasped as the cold hit her. Kaelie smirked and turned around, flipping her hair over her shoulder, and then practically ran into Jace. When Clary looked up from her dripping outfit, she met the anger in Jace's amber glare.

“Kaelie,” he said, voice low with fury. “That's enough. Leave.”

“B-But Jace,” Kaelie whimpered. “She--”

“I don't care. Get out, Kaelie,” he growled. When she stood, frozen, for a second too long, Jace barked, “I said go!”

The blonde-haired girl made a mouse-like sound and hurried away.

Clary grabbed a couple of napkins off the punch table and began dabbing them on her dress. “That really wasn't necessary, Jace. I--”

Jace cut her off. “Come with me,” he said, voice still so low that Clary thought he was mad at her too. He half-dragged Clary to the elevator, and didn't let go of her arm as they rode it up to his office.

Clary could have sworn her heartbeat was loud enough to hear, confined to the walls of the elevator with just her and Jace. Her fingers quivered slightly, perhaps in fear. Honestly, she wasn't too sure what it was. A lifetime passed before the ding of the elevator signifying their arrival at the ninth floor broke the silence.

Jace tugged at her arm, and when Clary didn't move right away, he cursed and let go, taking a step away from her. “Sorry, sorry, I just—” he broke off, looking away as he clenched his hand into a fist, relaxed, and then did it again. He turned and began walking to his office, and Clary followed.

Jace went behind his desk and, reaching into the bottom drawer, pulled out a white button-down and a pair of sweatpants. “Here,” he said, handing them to her, looking almost sheepish. “They're probably way too big for you, but they're clean.”

Clary nodded and muttered a “Thanks,” and walked to the bathroom to change. Jace was right. The clothes were way too big for her. She hand to roll up the sleeves of the shirt and pants quite a few times to keep them from hanging off her limbs, and the shirttails reached her knees, probably, but they were warm and comfortable and smelled deliciously like Jace.

That last one didn't matter. Nope. Not at all. Nah, no effect on Clary whatsoever. None.

She came back to Jace's office barefoot, with her heels in one hand, and her dress draped over her other arm. Jace was sitting at his desk with his head in his hands and didn't look up when she came in. Still a bit stunned, Clary noted dully that she could faintly hear the tones of  _Imagination_ floating from somewhere in the building.

“Are you okay?” she asked softly.

His head shot up. “Are you okay?” he queried back.

“I asked first,” Clary huffed, dumping her heels and dress onto the couch in Jace's office.

Jace rose and started towards her. “I'm not sure yet.”

“I'm mostly okay,” Clary said, now that Jace had answered her. She wasn't sure why she felt the need to approach him, but she walked towards him anyway and they met in front of his desk. “Why are you unsure?”

Jace blinked at her for a moment, and then sighed. “Nothing you need to worry about,” he said. He reached up to tuck a loose curl of red hair behind her ear, and then looked surprised that he did it. “I'm sorry about Kaelie. She's bitter, and has a grudge against me.”

“No, I think she has a grudge against me,” Clary said. “Otherwise she would have poured punch on you.”

“She thinks she can hurt things I care about and get away with it to get back at me.” And then Jace was suddenly much closer than Clary had thought they were a couple of seconds ago.

“You care?” Clary said, voice a whisper. She realized Jace's hand hadn't moved from when he brushed back her hair, and now his palm rested against her cheek. She saw the dark of his eyes, golden turned to simmering bronze in the dark and desire. His lips were getting closer, and Clary almost closed the distance between them, but the knock on the door stopped her.

Leaping away, she whirled as Simon cracked the door open and peeked in. “Clary? Are you alright? I heard what happened and figured you might want a ride home.”

Clary glanced at Jace who looked . . . Disappointed? Not quite. His eyes were filled with an emotion she couldn't quite grasp. Turning to Simon, she grabbed her dress and shoes and replied, “Yeah, thanks.” Then, to Jace: “Do you mind if I borrow the clothes? I'll bring them Monday.”

Jace nodded, “Yeah, that's fine. See you Monday.”

“Thanks,” she said, and then led her rapidly beating heart out the door, after Simon, away from the man who almost kissed her. Away from her boss.

 


	15. Invitation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> feat. Crushcrushcrush by Paramour

After the fiasco at the staff function (and Clary wasn't referring to the dress, but Jace didn't acknowledge it had happened at all, even when Clary returned his clothes), the next two weeks passed without incident, but between fighting off Jace's flirting at work and creating a different persona for herself at the bar, she was glad to finally have a break (Magnus had a event at the bar the past weekend, so she hadn't gotten much time off) as Friday afternoon and the beginning of the weekend inched itself ever closer to her grasp. But as she was sitting at her desk, being distracted by the ticking of the clock, she must have looked too anxious because Jace glanced up and called her out.

“Going somewhere after this?”

Clary sighed, stopped having a staring contest with the clock, and turned to Jace. “No, I'm just ready for the weekend. This week's been busy. I'm not used to it still. I'm ready for a break.”

“Already?” Jace teased. “Don't back out on me. I need a secretary.”

“I don't give up that easily.”

“Neither do I,” Jace said, smirking at her. “Speaking of, a couple of friends are going to a club later today. Do you want to come?”

Clary thought for a moment. “Sure, I guess.” Magnus had given her and Isabelle the evening off since Jordan was taking over the stage that night. She didn't really have much else to do except sit in her apartment and laze around. It was better than being a sloth.

“Good. Wear that corset. And the boots.”

Clary was about to protest, but Jace had already turned back to his work, and Clary really had no grounds to protest anyway. He bought her the clothes, he should at least get to see her wear them.

As Clary was getting ready to leave, about ten minutes after their last conversation, Jace beat her to the door and held it for her. “Let me drive you home,” he offered. “So I'll know where to pick you up.”

Clary watched him, thinking of her messy apartment at the same time. “It's alright,” she said, “I can get myself home. And I'm still not sure I want you to know where I live.”

“I won't try anything, I promise,” Jace said, putting one hand on his chest and raising the other in the air, swearing on God. “Besides, I'm not sure I want you alone on the street.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“That's exactly why I want to drive you.” He sighed. “Just, let me do this for you? Just this once.”

Clary continued to study him, met his golden eyes, saw the sincerity nesting there, and opened her mouth to agree. Her heart wanted her to do so. But she didn't. “My, Jace, do you actually _care_ about me?”

Jace snorted. “Good secretaries are hard to find. And I'll have you know, probably millions of girls would not hesitate to take me up on this offer.”

“Well, then I'm one out of millions,” Clary shot back. She took a pen off his desk and wrote her number on his arm. “Text me the place, I'll meet you there.”

Jace looked mildly annoyed and there was a fire in his eyes as Clary sauntered out the door. She took his pen too, swaying her hips as the beat of _crushcrushcrush_ by Paramore playing on Jace's computer escorted her out.

 


	16. Pandemonium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> feat. a derpy chapter because this was one of the ones I felt was too long in comparison to the others so it got cut in half

Clary stepped out of a taxi wearing the corset and boots Jace had bought her, as well as some low-rising black skinny jeans, made to show off the strip of skin at her waist. As per Jace's instructions (“This is Jace. Pandemonium, 9 P.M. sharp” was all he texted) she arrived at the club labeled Pandemonium at two minutes past nine. Jace was standing at the door, waiting, as well as Alec, Isabelle, and Isabelle's boyfriend.

“Oh, hi, Clary,” Alec greeted as Clary approached, before he could stop himself, then his expression turned to one of panic and apology.

Jace immediately looked puzzled. “You two have met?”

Clary scrambled for an excuse. “He came to the office last week,” she spluttered, “He was looking for you, but you'd already left for lunch. We chatted for a bit, you know, mostly complaining about you.”

“Right, great,” Jace said, unenthusiastic. “Anyway, you've met Alec, apparently. This is Isabelle, and her boyfriend, Sebastian.” He motioned at each in turn. “Izzy, Seb. This is Clary.”

“Hi,” Clary said. “Nice to meet you.” Was that too much?

Sebastian, dark eyes and white hair a stark contrast, began to say something about having already met Clary, but Isabelle elbowed him before he could get the words out. They'd only met once or twice before. But it was enough that it might mess things up for Clary, since Sebastian wasn't part of the plan. Then again, going out to clubs with Jace wasn't really part of the plan either.

“Well, now that that's out of the way,” Jace said, looking a bit impatient. “Let's go in. I'm ready for drinks.”

As they entered, Jace wandered towards the bar and told them to find a table somewhere. Wading their way through the masses of people that lingered on the edges of the dance floor, they fought their way to a booth in the corner of the room, secluded enough to, perhaps, hold a conversation.

“Before he gets back,” Isabelle said, drawing everyone closer to speak. “Clary, what the hell are you doing here?”

“Me?” Clary hissed back. “Jace invited me. I didn't know his 'friends' were you guys.”

“What's going on?” Sebastian asked.

“Jace is Clary's boss. Jace doesn't know that Clary knows us,” Alec explained. “I think.” He looked confused himself. “Something like that, probably.”

“He can't know,” Izzy insisted. Then, she leaned back in her seat, casually. She nodded generally in the direction of the bar. How she saw Jace finish getting drinks through all the people, Clary had no idea.

Jace, by some miracle, had managed to bring five different drinks to the table with only two hands, and not spill a drop on himself. “Take your pick,” Jace said. “Except the brown one,” he said as Sebastian reached for it. “I want that one. Also, I have no idea what any of them are.”

Everyone took their pick, leaving Sebastian with a pink drink. He scowled.

“What's wrong?” Isabelle asked.

“Men do not consume pink drinks,” Sebastian said. “I wanted a brown one.”

“Brown _is_ a manly color,” Jace inserted.

Alec took a sip of his (it was blue) and made a face. “Trade with me then,” he said, shuffling the drinks across the table.

“Now that that's settled,” Jace said, positioning himself between Alec and Clary at the table. “How do you guys know Clary?”

“What?” Isabelle said.

“You think I can't read expressions? I know you all are hiding something. So unless you all have a late Christmas gift for me, I'd figured it's something to do with her.” He motioned at the redhead next to him.

“I met her at the office,” Alec said, insisting that Clary's cover story was true and thus making it her problem.

“This is the first time we've met,” Isabelle said casually, easily the best liar out of the five of them. And then, to make it more believable, because half-truths always were: “But Sebastian's met her before.”

She must have given him some sort of warning that Jace, and Clary, didn't notice, because he followed along with no stutters. “Oh, yeah,” he said, an expression of realization dawning on his face. “I met her in art class. I was sitting in.”

This wasn't entirely untrue. Some sort of unspeakable event had occurred in Sebastian's freshman engineering class a couple years back and he'd been banished to Clary's art class for the hour. At the time, she hadn't know who he was, nor that he was dating Isabelle. But technicalities.

“I remember that,” Clary said, honestly. “What happened, anyway?”

“I knocked someone unconscious,” Sebastian explained. “It was an accident, I swear.”

“I don't think I heard about this,” Isabelle said, turning to eye her boyfriend suspiciously. “What happened, now?”

“I've said too much,” Sebastian said, “There's a reason you don't know. We don't talk about it. We just call it the 'Catapult Incident' and leave it at that.”

“I'm amazed you _only_ got banished to the art room. I'd have figured you'd have been arrested or something,” Clary said.

After some more chatter and prodding to get Sebastian to tell his story (and him adamantly refusing), everyone had finished the first round of drinks, and Sebastian and Isabelle volunteered to get better ones than Jace had.

Jace then turned on Alec, obviously knowing he was the weakest link in the hopefully undiscovered chain of lies involving Clary's identity. “So what did you need from me? When you came to the office?”

“Oh,” Alec said. Clary looked pointedly at him from the other side of Jace. Thankfully, he seemed to be handling it well. “I thought you left something in my car, but it turned out it was Isabelle's.”

Jace seemed relatively satisfied. He switched topics. “How are Isabelle and Sebastian doing?” he asked.

“Good, I think,” Alec said. He turned to watch them at the bar, and refused to meet Clary's eyes.

“What do you mean?” Clary asked Alec, who was saved by his phone buzzing.

“It's Magnus. I'll be right back,” he said, making his way outside. He passed Izzy and Sebastian as the made their way back to the table. Clary got a text a moment later from Alec that said “I'll explain later.”

“Where's Alec going?” Isabelle asked, coming back with drinks.

“Magnus called him,” Clary informed her.

“Oh. Well if he doesn't get back by the time I've finished my drink, it's mine. I call dibs.” Izzy had gotten everyone the same drink, apparently something she knew she liked. It was fruity, without being too sweet, and while Jace complained that it very much a “girl drink” he never complained about the flavor.

 


	17. Dark Decisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> feat. Midnight Romeo by Push Play and Love Me Harder by Ariana Grande

Alec did, in fact, return just as Isabelle was finishing her drink, and had to snatch it off the table to keep her away from it. She claimed she let him have it, and then decided she was going to get another drink for herself.

Clary, having now had enough alcohol to feel a fire in her veins, may have not been thinking entirely clearly at that point because when Jace asked if she wanted to dance, she agreed, and the two made their way through the throngs of people towards the middle of the dance floor. It wasn't long before they were just another couple in the writhing mass of human sweat and alcohol breath, and probably desire.

By the time Push Play's _Midnight Romeo_ started playing, they were breathless and sweaty but just getting started. Jace wrapped his arms around her waist, fingers setting fire to the strip of skin revealed at at her hips. Clary turned in his arms and danced more against him than next to him, and by the end of the song, she'd forgotten who's limb was who's. But when Jace leaned down to kiss her, she had enough rational brain power to back up and say: “I'm ready for more drinks. You?”

He looked disappointed, but agreed, and the two made their way to the bar. This time, they didn't return to the table, instead lingering at the bar. At some point during that visit, Jace challenged her to try the bar's famous “Demon's Fire,” which was a flaming shot of some sort. Clary honestly didn't pay much attention to what was in it, though she probably should have so that maybe she could tell Magnus about it. Whatever. That was what the internet was for.

Obviously thinking the idea of drinking something on fire would scare her off, Jace was surprised when she said “Bring it.”

Jace ordered the drink and the bartender brought it over.

“Okay,” Clary said. “How do I do this?”

“Some people blow it out,” the bartender explained. “Some people use a straw.”

“I'll try the straw,” Clary said confidently, and Jace then ordered one for himself.

“I've only done the straw once,” he said. “I can't have you outdo me.”

The bartender brought another drink and two straws. He then explained how to drink it without putting out the fire (and without setting yourself on fire): “put the straw in your mouth, then drink it from the side, and do it quickly, otherwise the straw melts.”

“You first,” Clary said. “You're the professional, here.”

“Fine,” Jace said, but she caught him swallowing hard. He took a breath, and then dispatched the shot easily.

“That wasn't too bad,” Clary observed.

“Your turn,” Jace said, blowing the flaming tip of his straw out.

Clary wasn't about to back out now. The flame on hers had died some, making it a little less daunting, but still intimidating. Well, she'd gotten through her first day at Herondale Industries; she can get through this.

Mimicking Jace, she went for it, gulping down the liquor. Whatever it was, it was good, and strong. Clary resisted the urge to cough away the burning in her throat, and instead blew out the flame on her straw.

“Well, Clary,” Jace said, “You've certainly earned my respect.”

“I don't turn down dares,” she replied, in way of explanation of . . . something. At that point, not much was going coherently through Clary's brain, so she instead she did the thing that she knew she wanted. She grabbed Jace's hand and pulled him out to the dance floor, this time joining Isabelle and Sebastian.

Alec was standing awkwardly on the edge of the two couples until his phone buzzed. Magnus sneaked up behind him while he was distracted and kissed Alec's neck. Presumably, it was late enough that he'd already closed the bar, and was actually here and Clary wasn't hallucinating. Alec squeaked and whirled, but his angry quips were silenced by Magnus' lips.

Somewhere in the next two songs, Clary and Jace had lost sight of their friends, and when Clary pulled Jace closer by the belt loops of his jeans, he asked in a whisper at her ear that made her shiver, “Do you want to get out of here?”

Clary wasn't sure if that had been Jace's original intention when he asked her to come to the club with him, but her alcohol-muddled brain wasn't about to question it. There was no denying how attractive Jace was, nor was there denying how attractive a night with him sounded. So she said yes.

The taxi ride to Jace's apartment was short, but it was enough time that Clary ended up practically sitting on Jace's lap while he peppered kisses along her neck and shoulders. The cab driver nearly had to yell to get them to pay attention to him. Jace threw a twenty in the window, told the cabbie to keep the change, and led Clary towards his apartment. She followed Jace into his apartment, and leaned against the door he closed behind her.

Before Jace could go to turn on any lights, Clary caught his hand and pulled him back. Not expecting it, Jace stumbled and caught himself against the door, landing inches away from Clary's face. His eyes, pupils wide in the dark room and filled with desire, trailed to her lips. “I dare you to kiss me,” he said, voice a whisper in the dark that drew her closer.

Clary didn't turn down dares.

So she did.

Jace tasted like man and smoke, and just slightly like alcohol. He seemed surprised at first that she actually did, and then reciprocated, biting and sucking and sending shivers down Clary's nerves. She reached around his waist, and tugged him against her. Jace's hand went around her back, holding her to him, and his other slid along her side, then to her thigh, lifting her onto his hips. She wrapped her legs around him as he carried her to his room.

As he approached his bed, he tripped over something, and half-threw her onto the mattress. Her arm must have hit something because as Jace began peppering kisses along her collarbone, distracting her from his hands undoing the lace on her corset, Ariana Grande's _Love Me Harder_ began playing.

If Clary hadn't been so occupied by the feeling of Jace's lips on hers, or the heat of his hands on her bare skin, she might have laughed.

 


	18. Classic Coffee Shop Scene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> feat. The Way by Ariana Grande and Right Girl by The Maine

It was about five in the evening when Simon slid into the booth across from Clary, nearly bumping his coffee over as he shrugged off his coat. “Crap,” he muttered, hands flying to steady the mug. His lanky leg bumped Clary's, and he shied away, swiftly apologizing.

“Relax, Simon,” Clary said, turning her gaze outside to watch the people pass the coffee shop window. She was glad it was a cloudy day, otherwise the sun would've intensified her headache. “It's not like it's our first date.” She chuckled, and Simon gave a breathy laugh.

“No, I guess not. Sorry, I just had to get up super early this morning to get some work done. I'm kind of frazzled,” he said softly, bringing his mug to his lips, and then nearly spewing it across the table. “What the—?! Is this _black_?”

“Oh, sorry,” Clary said, absently. Her thoughts were consumed by Jace. “I forgot. I'll get you some cream.” She got out of the booth and went to the counter, humming a _The Way_ to herself while she waited for the barista. She saw Sebastian across the room, sitting in a corner booth with a student Clary was pretty sure she'd seen in his engineering class. They seemed to be working, but when he saw her, he waved, and Clary smiled back. The barista returned with Clary's request, and Clary was about to turn away when she asked:

“Is that guy you were sitting with your boyfriend?”

Clary looked over her shoulder at Simon, who was staring deep into his coffee mug. “Simon? No. He's my coworker.”

“Oh, cool,” the barista said. “I think he's cute. Tell him he can have my number if he wants.”

Clary nodded and returned to the table. “I don't think anything is going to leap out of your coffee,” she told him. “Also,” she added as she sat down and put Simon's creamer on the table, “the barista said she thinks you cute and that you can have her number if you want it.”

Simon started fixing his coffee, and glanced outside. “I don't.”

“Why not?” Clary asked, following his gaze, but not finding anything of interest at the point at which Simon was gazing. “No offense, but if she isn't pretty enough for you, you might have to lower your standards.”

“She's very pretty,” Simon said softly. Clary waited, but Simon didn't add anything, so she let it drop for the time being. The coffee shop was too busy for Clary to bring up anything that Simon might have been sensitive about. Clary had nothing wrong with his sexuality, but really, having her figure it our through inductive reasoning was rather tedious.

“So why did you want to meet for coffee?” Simon asked. “We don't usually do Saturdays.”

“I had a late night last night,” Clary explained, rubbing her temple in attempt to alleviate her headache. “I needed the coffee.”

Simon nodded and they finished their coffee in silence, though with Clary occasionally humming along to the cafe's radio, which was playing _Right Girl_ by The Maine. The caffeine did help with Clary's headache, some, and she felt good enough to wave at Sebastian as they left. When Simon wasn't looking, he mouthed 'Jace is better' at her. She rolled her eyes at him.

She and Simon walked next to each other for a couple of blocks, with no real intent as to where they were going. Simon looked a bit worried about something, and Clary was busy trying to find the best way to confront Simon about keeping secrets (she ignored the irony of that). Just as Clary stopped walking to speak to Simon, he stopped and said her name.

He saw that she had opened her mouth to say something and motioned at her. “You first.”

Clary closed her mouth. Then opened it. Then shrugged, “Why didn't you tell me you were gay?”

Simon froze for a minute. “What?”

“Oh, c'mon, Simon, don't try to play it off. I already know. You think I wouldn't figure it out after the amount of perfectly fine girls you've turned down?”

“Clary, I'm not gay . . .” Simon said, voice low.

“Simon, stop hiding it. It's okay. There's nothing wrong with it.” Clary put her hand on his arm, an attempt at comfort.

He shrugged her off and turned away. “I'm not gay, Clary. I like you. Obviously, though, you don't share that feeling.”

“What?” Clary echoed Simon.

Simon turned and gave a sharp look, eyes glistening in anger and the hurt of rejection. “Oh, Clary,” he said trenchantly, “Don't try and play it off. Didn't you already know?”

And though it was not what she intended to say, she said: “W-What . . . why?”

Simon laughed bitterly. “Why? I don't know, Clary. Why'd you start working with me? Why did I find you cute and funny and smart and attractive? I don't know. But thanks for leading me on the entire time. Thanks for getting my hopes up. Excuse me now while I go drink the rest of my evening away. I had originally hoped you'd join me for that, but now I think I want to go alone. Alcohol seems to be the best company for me.”

Simon started walking away, hailed a taxi, and drove off before Clary could insist that alcohol was _not_ the best company (she worked at a bar, she would know). She stood, frozen. She felt the pull of her compassion, but not the pull of her affection. She thought she had it figured out, but apparently she was the blind one. She let out a shaky breath, the cold rattling her lungs. Whether it was the cold from her heart or outside, she couldn't tell. Mechanically, she hailed a taxi and told the driver to go to _The Sparkling Glass_. She wouldn't have been able to go out with Simon that night away; she had to work.

And her headache had come back, full force. Whatever. Isabelle would have something for that.

 


	19. Best Laid Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> feat. The Jeeves Hangover Cure™

“What happened to you?” Isabelle said, when Clary walked into the bar, hair a mess from her running her hands through it as a means to keep herself sane on the drive over.

“I just lost my only friend at work,” Clary explained, flopping onto one of the table chairs.

“I meant last night,” Isabelle said. She paused in setting up tables to watch Clary. “But that explains the hair, I guess.”

“Oh,” Clary said. “I stayed at Jace's.”

Isabelle raised an eyebrow, asking an unspoken question.

Clary put her head in her hands, then rubbed her temples. “Yes, Isabelle,” she finally conceded. “From what I can remember last night, I slept with him.”

“Oh my God,” Isabelle whispered. “How was he?”

“No,” Clary said, bolting upright and immediately regretting it. She groaned and fell back into the chair. “I am not having that conversation with you.”

“Fine,” Isabelle said. “But you have to give me some details.”

“He took me back to his apartment. We . . . I spent the night. He made me breakfast, and confessed that he was considerably less drunk last night because half of the things he ordered were just sodas or had little alcohol, and then I thanked him for the food and left.”

“Wow,” Isabelle said. “Did you talk about what happened at all?”

“Nope,” Clary said. “I have no idea what this means. He might fire me. Or something. I have no clue.”

“Right. Now explain the hair thing.”

“No more questions until you use your bar magic to deal with my headache,” Clary insisted.

“Oh,” Isabelle said, realizing. “Sorry. Yeah.” She moved over to the bar, mixed some sort odd concoction that may or may not have contained a raw egg and some sort of pepper (Isabelle kept the ingredients at the bar specifically for emergency hangover cures before work). She brought Clary the drink that looked somewhere between milk and blood.

Clary took the drink and swallowed, the liquid burning her throat as it went down, and, of course, tasting horrid as usual. But it did help significantly. She made a face when she was done. “Damn. I hate that stuff,” she complained.

“You're welcome,” Isabelle said, taking the glass from her.

“Thanks.”

“Anyway. You were getting to explaining the lost friend?”

“Simon. The boy from work. I met him for coffee just before I came here—oh , I saw Sebastian at the coffee shop, by the way.”

“Yeah, he has a project due in something like two days,” Isabelle interjected in way of explanation.

“Right. Anyhow, Simon and I had been getting coffee and eating lunch together and multiple times he'd turned down getting girls numbers and such and never commented on pretty girls, so I sort of assumed he was gay.” Isabelle looked worried. Clary continued. “Well, when I confronted him, he told me that he liked me.”

“And you don't like him.” It was a statement, not a question.

Clary answered anyway. “No.” She sighed. “He got upset and left. He went drinking.”

“That's never a good idea. Alcohol and a broken heart don't go well together.”

Clary nodded, and then fell silent, in thought. She couldn't take the night off, but maybe she could send someone to take care of Simon. “Jordan!” She said aloud, startling Isabelle.

“What?”

“He knows Jordan. I could ask him to go with Simon,” Clary said.

Isabelle's eyes lit up. “In that case, I have an idea. But we're going to need someone else too.”

Within a few moments, they were both in the dressing room, and Isabelle was concocting her plan.

“Isabelle, I have work to do,” Sebastian said over the phone. Isabelle had her phone on speaker as she did Clary's makeup for her disguise.

“Please, Seb? It's important.”

“So is my project,” he insisted, but his voice didn't have the edge it contained earlier.

“I'll help you with it, then,” Izzy said.

“Oh, no,” Sebastian replied. “Last time you tried to help me with a project, we got no work done whatsoever.”

Isabelle laughed, and Clary raised both eyebrows at her, mostly because she physically could not raise just one. The dark-haired girl then swatted at her to stay still. “I'll make it up to you, then,” she said.

Sebastian sighed. “Fine,” he caved. “But you owe me. I'll be there at eight.”

“Seven-thirty,” Isabelle said.

“Seven-thirty,” Sebastian repeated, correcting himself in compliance with Isabelle.

“Thank you. I love you,” she sang.

“I love you too,” Sebastian said, unenthusiastically. “I have to go. Bye.”

“Bye.” Isabelle clapped her hands together, makeup brush in hand, sending stray flecks of eyeshadow flying. “Done,” she announced. “Let's get the real fun started now.”

 


	20. You Don't Exist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> feat. Desire by Years & Years

“Alec,” Isabelle said sternly, frightening her poor brother into submission. “We need you to keep Jace out of the bar for the night. Give me your phone.”

Alec complied and Isabelle began tapping away at it. Clary looked over her shoulder—or, rather, around her shoulder—and saw she was texting Jace: “hey, what's up?”

Clary looked up while Isabelle waited for a reply. “How do you know Jace, anyway?” she asked Alec.

“We met in high school. Sophomore year. I dunno. We just kept in touch. Didn't really move away much, I guess,” Alec said, shrugging.

Clary nodded. “That's cool, I guess. I wouldn't have thought you two would really be in the same circle of friends, though.”

“We were chem partners,” he added. “I think that's how it started.”

“Oh,” Clary said, getting distracted by the sound of Alec's text tone. Jace had replied “Nothing much. Just finishing up some work at my apartment. Why?” Isabelle texted back asking if he wanted to go see a movie, and then thrust the phone back into Alec's hands.

“Here,” Isabelle said, and then began half-shooing, half-dragging her brother out the front door altogether. Magnus caught sight of them as they passed through the main room and began yelling at her.

“Hey! What are you doing? Stop manhandling—womanhandling? whatever—my boyfriend! Isabelle!” But by then she'd already shoved Alec out the door and was smiling like an angel at Magnus, working her charm.

“Nothing to see here, folks,” she said to the very few patrons in the room. It had just opened, and not many who went drinking on Saturday nights were punctual. Isabelle walked towards Magnus, who was behind the bar.

“What's going on?” he said, glowering at her.

“Clary lacks social skills. We're fixing it tonight,” Isabelle explained. Magnus's glare darkened. Clary just nodded.

“Really, Isabelle,” Magnus said. “What do you two have planned?”

Isabelle glanced over her shoulder and motioned for Magnus to lean forward. He rolled his eyes but did so. “Clary pissed off a friend and he decided to go nurse his broken heart with alcohol. He knows Jordan, so we sent him to look after Simon—that's Clary's friend. Once Jordan gets him in here, we're gonna put on a bit of a show with Sebastian, and take the two of them out. We'll bring Simon to the back room and let Clary do her thing. Hopefully correctly this time.”

Magnus watched Isabelle warily. “Don't break anything,” he said, finally. “And wait, so why did you need Alec?”

“Jace would complicate things more than they already are.” Isabelle shrugged. “Besides, Alec needs to keep up appearances with friends. All he does is make out with you in your office nowadays.”

Magnus huffed. He didn't argue.

“So you're going to tell him, then?” Magnus asked Clary, getting himself a bottle of water out from behind the bar.

“I think so, yeah. It'll be a bit of a stress relief. I trust him.” Clary shrugged. “Besides, I already slept with Jace, how much worse can it get?”

Magnus happened to be taking a drink of water at the exact moment Clary spoke. He spit it out, spraying droplets all over the bar. Isabelle grabbed a towel and began cleaning her arm, then wiping up the bar. “You did _what?_ ”

Clary blinked at him, unamused. “You heard me.”

“When?” Magnus then noticed Isabelle. “Sorry.”

“Last night.”

Magnus was still spluttering, but got out: “How was he?”

“Oh my God, no,” the red-head said, throwing her arms up in the air. “Not you too.”

Magnus looked at Isabelle. She shrugged. “She won't tell me either.”

Before the two could further question Clary, a large group of people entered and sat down at a table across the room. Magnus looked pointedly at Isabelle. “Anyway. Whatever two are up to, you still have work to do. Clary, get ready to preform,” Magnus ordered, then looked her over. “Well, I mean, I'm sure you did last night . . .”

The redhead glared but otherwise ignored the last comment. “Right,” Clary said. She and Isabelle were already dressed for performing that night, each in corsets, longer than the ones Clary had bought a couple weeks back, and with black mini shorts instead of jeans, but there were still backstage things Clary had to get done, like setting up her microphone and making sure the lights were in the right place. Years of practice made her quick at her work, and within a few moments she was ready.

At least from the technical aspect. Mentally, Clary was struck by stagefright. She ran her hands through her hair, and when she found it wasn't her own, she remembered she was disguised.

“What are you afraid of?” she questioned herself in a whisper. “Messing up? The person on stage doesn’t exist. It's your voice that makes her.” So Clary took a deep breath, and went through the curtains.

She began singing _Desire_ , which Clary thought was ironic, considering recent events with Jace. But she didn't want the yellow glare of the spotlight to remind her of golden hair and melted amber eyes, so she instead focused on Isabelle, as she wandered from table to table serving customers.

 


	21. Play Acting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> feat. the poor drunk awks cinnamon roll

If Clary didn't know Sebastian personally, she probably would have been terrified of running into him in any situation. He wasn't particularly intimidating or threatening, but something about the stark juxtaposition of his white sand hair and dark eyes always caught Clary off guard. It didn't help that she was short and Sebastian was taller than Jace.

Jace. Nope, she was refusing to think of him now. She did a quick mental sweep of all things Jace—the pleasure of his touch, the scent of his skin, sweaty and burning against her own, the glass shimmer of his sunflower eyes—collecting them in a pile and dumping them in a big imaginary trash can. No more Jace tonight.

Tonight, she and Izzy and Sebastian were putting a show, just no one knew it except the actors themselves.

Simon had come in a few minutes ago, followed by a significantly less drunk and significantly less pissed-looking Jordan. When they walked in, Simon had seemed intent on throwing himself against the bar and demanding the strongest alcohol in the house, but Jordan steered him towards an empty table.

Clary slipped between the tables, carrying an empty tray back to the bar. She cast a sideways glance at Jordan and Simon across the room. Brushing against Magnus's arm to get his attention from serving drinks. “Jordan's keeping too close a watch on Simon for us to act,” she hissed at him. “Get my phone from the back, call him a couple of times.”

Magnus glanced over at them, then gave her a nod. He finished serving a beer to someone at the other end of the bar. “Long island iced tea for the woman in the pink dress, and a lime margarita for the blond next to her.”

Magnus glided past her, leaving Clary to fix up the drinks. Time and practice had taught her skill in bartending, keeping her hands steady and accurate even as her focus remained on Jordan, waiting for him to leave. It was as she was giving the blond girl (who looked perhaps a little too young to be in a bar) her margarita that Isabelle came up to her. Clary watched over Izzy's shoulder as Jordan finally pulled out his phone, excusing himself from the table, not that Simon particularly noticed, and ducked outside.

Apparently though, Simon did notice, and the coke he had at his table had decidedly not enough alcohol in it for him, so he stood up, slightly off-balance, to make his way towards the bar.

Izzy met Clary's gaze. “Showtime,” she whispered, doing Jazz hands. Clary looked at her like she was crazy. Hell, at this time of the night, it was quite possible the other girl already had a few drinks in her anyway, so the Jazz hands were actually one of the least offensive things she could do.

Especially when they were about to start and break up a fight.

Clary sent a silent prayer to whatever god watched over the heartbroken and dangerous in the late ours of the night, but to be completely honest, she wasn't sure if any god was going to be watching out for them.

As Simon half-stumbled his way towards the bar, Sebastian, who had situated himself at a table between where Jordan and Simon had been sitting and Simon's current destination, stood up and exactly the wrong moment. Drink in hand, he intentionally got in Simon's way, causing Simon to hit Sebastian and send his drink spilling all over the both of them.

“Hey, watch it,” Sebastian growled, voice such a deadly low that Clary was stunned by his acting. He slammed the glass against the table, and pushed Simon by the shoulders.

Simon stumbled back. “Buddy, I'm not really in the mood,” he hissed, the venom of anger obvious in his tone. The other patrons around them shuffled back, recognizing the beginnings of a bar fight.

“Yeah?” Sebastian said, “Well, I am. Or at least I was, until some moron spilled my drink on me.” Sebastian may have been slightly drunk at that point too, (which wasn't intentional, but perhaps improved his act) because his retort made zero sense whatsoever. A few of the onlookers cheered anyway.

“Look,” Simon said, angry but not willing to put in the effort yet. “I'm sorry—” But then Sebastian pushed him again, and Simon finally took the bait, swinging wildly at Sebastian. Clary was almost 100% sure that Sebastian was drunk at that point, because his normally stellar reflexes failed him, and while he tried to duck away, Simon's fist still connected with his chin. “Get out of my way,” Simon growled.

Sebastian straightened from the recoil and glared. “Oh, now you're asking for it.” He raised his fist to throw a punch of his own, but Isabelle, who's timing was perfect, grabbed his arm from behind, swinging Sebastian around. Caught off-balance, he fell into the chair he had risen from, and Isabelle expertly settled herself in his lap, wrapping her legs around him and pinning him to the chair.

Now Clary's turn. Strutting up Simon, she caught his gaze and his hand in her own in the same moment, and tugged him towards her. She ran a finger along his jawline and his body followed her touch, leaning forward, and Clary pulled him towards the back room.

Simon followed her, almost blindly, to the dressing room. She ushered him in and then closed the door behind them. When she turned, she found Simon hovering above her, hands against the door, trapping her against it. “Hey,” he mumbled. “You're pretty.”

Oh, God, drunk Simon was just as awkward as sober Simon. He leaned towards her, moving closer as if to kiss her, but Clary ducked away. “Why don't we move somewhere more comfortable?” she suggested, tugging at an arm to spin him around. He messily complied, and Clary pulled him towards the couch across the room. She meant for him to sit, but he must have tripped over something—Isabelle's shoe, she realized—and he collapsed onto the couch in a heap.

“Simon?” Clary said, after he didn't get up for a moment. “Simon!” She prodded at his shoulder, and he let out a soft groan, but otherwise didn't stir. Rolling him onto his side, and shifting him so he fit more comfortably on the couch, Clary decided she would just let him sleep.

Perhaps she would have been more concerned about him passing out if she didn't know he had been up since early morning. But she knew the signs of alcohol poisoning (one kind of has to if one works in a bar) and aside from knocking out, Simon showed no other symptoms, so Clary figured he just crashed. Well. That was that. At least for now.

 


	22. Simon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> feat. Stella by All Time Low  
> this is also probably one of my favorite chapters.

Clary and Magnus took turns watching Simon, leaving the capable Izzy to man (woman?) the bar while Clary sang. At one point, as Clary was putting things away backstage, since she'd done her last song as Avery for the night, Magnus approached her with a simple, “He's starting to wake up, I think. I'll take over.”

Clary nodded in reply. Then: “He'll probably have a major headache. Can you ask Izzy to send in one of her magic potion things?”

“I swear it's witchcraft, but sure,” Magnus replied, taking the microphone from her and beginning to wind the cord in large loops. “Now go fix your friend problems.”

Clary made her way from backstage to the dressing room, slipping off her heels as she went. As she entered, she tossed them in the general direction of one corner of the room. As she clicked the door closed, she heard Simon groan. He threw his arm up to cover his eyes. “Who turned the sun on?”

“You woke up, Simon. The sun never turned off in the first place,” Clary said.

“Who's there?” Simon asked, not accusingly. He lifted his arm and squinted at Clary. “Rebecca? Is that you?”

A knock behind Clary, and as she turned to open the door, she replied over her shoulder, “Your glasses are on the table next to the couch.”

Isabelle let herself in past Clary, setting the tray she carried in on the vanity. She glanced at Simon. “You didn't tell me he was cute,” she said.

Clary looked pointedly at her as she helped Simon to sit up, and find his glasses. He managed to get them on the right way up. “Izzy, you have a boyfriend.”

“Sebastian left a hour ago.” Isabelle brought over her miracle drink and a glass of water. “Besides, I'm just looking.”

Clary just glared as she took the drink. “Here, Simon. Drink this.” She passed him the glass and helped him drink it. He cringed, reflexively, which most people did in response to Izzy's concoction.

“What the hell?” he spluttered, though looking significantly better than he had a moment before. “Who the hell are you?”

Isabelle passed Clary the glass of water. “I'll leave you two alone then.”

“What's going on?” Simon demanded.

Clary offered him the glass as Izzy left the room. “Do you want some water?”

“Is it drugged? Are you going to kill me? Where am I?” Simon said, sounding at least a little bit panicked.

Clary barked out a small laugh, almost surprised by the response. It was so very Simon. “Sorry, Izzy's disguise is a bit too good. This is Clary. The water isn't drugged, I promise.” She set the water on the table beside them, easy for him to reach, and tugged at her wig, the brown locks falling away and her own red hair spilling out after it. “Simon, I'm sorry.”

“Clary?” Simon blinked, rubbed his eyes, and then looked back at her. “I must be really drunk.”

Clary shook her head. “I doubt it. Isabelle's bar drink thing pretty much cures drunkenness. I have no clue how. It's amazing, but might be dark magic. You probably don't want to know what's in it.”

“What's going on?” Simon asked, gingerly taking a sip of the glass of water.

“Simon,” Clary started. “I wanted to apologize. For being so stupid and insensitive. I'm sorry for what I said. I can't be sorry for how I feel, as much as I want to be. It wouldn't be truthful. I can't make myself like you, but maybe given time . . . I don't know. But I wanted to make it up to you, somehow, so I decided to share this with you.”

“The drink?” Simon asked, borderline sarcastic.

“No, this,” Clary motioned about the room. “As far as anyone knows, except a few people who are also in on it, I don't work here. It was Magnus's idea. To make myself look better for the internship. He figured I might not get the spot if I worked at a bar, and so it became this convoluted plot to disguise me as Avery instead of myself. I know this doesn't really make up for anything, but . . .”

“You're right,” Simon said, and then, in response to Clary's quizzical look. “About not getting the position if you worked at the bar.”

“What? Why?” Clary asked.

“Stephen hates this place, and places like it. Well, that's what Maia's told me. I don't know why.” Simon paused, looking over Clary. “Your disguise is good.”

Clary, taken aback, took a moment to respond. “Uh, thanks?” She took a moment to categorize that information, then decided to shove it into a mental box for later acknowledgment when she would ask Magnus if he knew anything. “Simon, will you forgive me?”

Simon sighed softly, setting his glass of water down. “Of course, Clary. I'm mad, but I could never hold a grudge against you.” He took her hands, gently, asking for permission with his touch, and studied them. “I shouldn't have been tricked by your getup. I'd know these hands anywhere. Kind, artistic, capable.” He chuckled, noticing something. “You can't hide the pale spot where you normally wear your ring.”

Clary laughed alongside, softly, the relief touching through her breath noticeable. “You're the only one who would notice,” Clary said. “And now it doesn't matter because you know.” And that was true. Simon cared enough to notice; Simon cared enough to know her. A one night stand with Jace was nothing compared to her friendship with Simon. Nothing. Even if his taste still lingered in her mind. Jace would fade. Simon wouldn't.

“Thanks, Simon,” Clary whispered, though she wasn't sure why she was whispering. Something about meaningful words tended to demand whispering. “You're the only other person I can trust with this.”

Simon let go of her hands. “Thanks for trusting me,” he said. Then, after a pause: “What next?”

“Well,” Clary said. “I don't know about you, but it's late, and I'm kind of ready to head home. Do you want to crash at my place tonight? It's closer, and the couch folds out.”

“Only if you share your pillows,” Simon said.

“Deal.”

It wasn't the greatest of makeups, and Clary was pretty sure that Simon's heart still ached after the day's events. And maybe it wasn't the greatest thing that the girl he was falling for was also trying to be the best friend to help him get over it. But on the taxi ride home, listening to  _Stella_ play softly on the radio, when Simon fell asleep with his head on Clary's shoulder, she didn't have the heart to move away.

 


	23. Clary.exe Has Stopped Working

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> feat. terrible advice by Izzy

Sunday afternoon was a mixture of emotions for Clary. Relieved that her relationship with Simon was on its way to getting patched up, she let the weight of keeping secrets from him fall off her shoulders, at least for the most part. It was one less person to worry about at work, hiding her identity. She didn't tell him about her night with Jace, though. She didn't figure his heart would be able to handle it, and she didn't find much worth in sharing it anyway, since the night probably meant nothing to Jace.

Except maybe enough to get her fired.

Well. At least she and Simon would still be friends.

But the worry was eating at her, despite the fact she was beginning to resign herself to the fact that her relationship with Jace and her success in her internship were summing up to the same thing: nothing, nada, zilch.

Even so, as soon as Simon left, Clary was close to having a mental breakdown, and so she decided the best treatment would be to visit Isabelle, who seemed to be an expert in all things composure and had a successful relationship going for the past three or so years. If Clary was going to go for anyone for advice, it would be her or Magnus (but seeing as Magnus had closed the bar for the night, chances were he was busy treating Alec to a candle-scented date at his apartment).

“Izzy!” Clary called, letting herself into her friend's apartment. “If Sebastian's in here naked, I swear to God I'm going to scream.”

Izzy's head poked out from around the kitchen doorway. “No,” she said, brandishing a wooden spoon that was covered in . . . something. While the better bartender, Izzy was pretty crap when it came to cooking. “He has a project due, remember? He's busy today finishing it up.”

“Oh right,” Clary said, acknowledging the fact it was safe to make herself at home in Isabelle's apartment.

“What some spaghetti?” Isabelle said, holding up a plate through the doorway as Clary collapsed onto Izzy's couch face down.

“I'm good, thanks,” Clary said, though her voice was muffled by the couch pillows. She rolled over. “I'm too nervous to eat.” Which was mostly true, but more likely an excuse to not eat any of Izzy's attempt at food.

“Well, suit yourself.” Isabelle came back into the room a few moments later with a heaping plate of what she claimed was spaghetti and settled herself into a nearby armchair. “What's up?”

“I'm gonna get fired tomorrow, for sure,” Clary stated.

“What did you do? Magnus loves you!”

“Not at the bar. At the internship.”

“Oh,” Isabelle said. “Well, in my experience, as long as you're good, sleeping with your boss tends to usually solidify your position working there.”

“I think that's only true for strippers and reality TV, Iz,” Clary deadpanned. “And I doubt you slept with Magnus, so I can only assume that whatever experience you have didn't actually work out in the end.”

“Well, I think I quit, if I remember right. And technically, I think I slept my way into the job in the first place, 'cause I was dating the store manager, and we broke up and he was about to fire me,” Isabelle explained around a mouthful of food.

“I don't think that's legal.”

“It is if I wasn't actually doing any work. Which I wasn't. It was great.”

“Izzy, you're terrible. And not helpful. At all.”

“Really, though, I don't think you have to worry about it too much. You were both drunk, right? And it wasn't like you were on business or anything. You were going out as a couple of friends. I don't think he actually has any grounds for firing you.”

“I don't think his dad would be very happy,” Clary murmured, and then cursed, loudly and profusely. “Magnus! I forgot to ask him.”

“What?”

“About something Simon said yesterday. You know how Magnus is renovating the bar because of the Herondale sponsorship?” When Izzy nodded, Clary continued: “Simon mentioned that his boss told him that Stephen Herondale actually hates the bar. I mean, not just Magnus's, necessarily, but bars in general, I guess? I'm not sure. I meant to ask Magnus if he knew anything about it.”

“That's a little odd,” Isabelle said, after a moment of thought. “I mean I can understand maybe disagreeing with them morally? I guess. But in that case, he should probably like Magnus's bar better because it's in relatively good standing with the community. Or maybe he knows Magnus is bisexual and it's like a hate thing?”

“I have no clue,” Clary said. “Though Magnus didn't really seem to have any interaction with him before he went looking for renovations, and if that was the case, why would Herondale Industries even bother serving Magnus? Wouldn't Stephen Herondale just turn him away at the door? Something doesn't make sense here.”

“We don't really have much to go on anyway. Not that I particularly don't trust your cute little boy toy—”

“Izzy!” Clary sounded slightly mortified.

“—But he didn't give us any information except that Mr. CEO doesn't like bars. That could really mean anything.” Isabelle finished, waving her fork at Clary for emphasis. “Now back to Jace. I seriously don't think he can really do anything, even if he wants to get rid of you, unless you mess up at work. You have actually been working right?”

“I'm not you,” Clary huffed.

“Just making sure. You should be fine, then.”

“I think there's a lot more politics or something involved here. I'm pretty sure Jace can pull enough strings and find a way to fire me if he wanted. Besides, I'm only an intern. Do I even get employee guarantees like that about unlawful termination?”

Izzy shrugged. “Well, I guess you might be in pretty deep. I dunno. Depends on how chill Jace is about it, I guess.”

“Haven't you known him for a while? What do you think he'll do?”

“Alec knows him best. He was the first cute boy that Alec brought home instead of me, but I think at the time, Alec had the hots for him pretty bad. Jace never showed any interest back, but I stayed out of the way just in case. I didn't want to ruin my brother's chances. Personality-wise, Jace is usually pretty cool about things, unless something pisses him off.” Isabelle looked thoughtful for a moment, perhaps lost in a memory. “He's not unfair, at least. I don't think he'll be upset with you.”

“I guess that's kind of a relief. And I'm pretty sure he's had a thing with his secretary for a while. I just . . . I guess I hate falling for his trap. Just like all the other girls who worked for him.”

“Well, his secretary is still fine, right?” Izzy asked as she finished up her pasta.

Clary paled. “She was until they had a fight. And then she threw a drink on me. And he yelled at her.”

Isabelle, walking towards the kitchen, paused and looked back at Clary, who was now perhaps more nervous than she was before she had come over. Izzy made a soft humming noise, looking Clary over. “Maybe you should wear something cute tomorrow. Just in case.”

 


	24. Worry And More Unanswered Questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> feat. Haunted by Taylor Swift & Haunting by Halsey with a reference to Colors by Halsey  
> (Because I am an addict damn)

Clary wasn't sure what was worse: walking into Herondale Industries on the first day, when she didn't know Jace, or walking into Herondale Industries now, after she knew Jace a little too well. She twisted her mom's ring against her finger, and vaguely recalled Simon's comment about the paler strip of skin while disguised. She would have to find a ring to wear as Avery, since makeup on her hands would only get washed away.

Well, she'd been standing there worrying for far long enough. It was just like going on stage. She was dressed up, having taken Izzy's advice, in a pale pink ruffled blouse and a white wrapped pencil skirt, and all she had to do was put on an act. Only, this act was a lot longer than a couple of songs, and probably loaded with far worse consequences if she screwed up. Maybe she already had.

But taking a deep breath, she clung to the fact that Izzy had given her: Jace wasn't unfair. He would be reasonable, at least, so Clary hoped. She let herself in the doors, but as she slipped past Camille towards the elevator, the receptionist called out.

“Oh, Clary!” She grabbed something off her desk and rose. “Jace stepped out for a meeting today. He should be back around lunch, but he left this for you.”

Clary took the folder that Camille offered her. “Oh, uh, thanks.” Clary managed. Jace wasn't there? Was the meeting planned, or was Jace using it as an excuse not to have to see her? Why would he not want to see her? Did he hate her that much? Clary's mind spun, but her nerves were significantly steadied. If Jace left work for her to do, that meant he probably wasn't firing her, right?

Camille, apparently noticing the slew of emotions passing over Clary's face, asked: “Are you alright?”

“Sorry!” Clary squeaked, realizing she'd been standing there for a while. “I-I just couldn't sleep last night,” she said, which wasn't entirely untrue. “I'll get right on whatever this is.”

Camille looked slightly concerned, but nodded. “Call me if you need anything. Today's probably going to be pretty slow, anyway.”

“Thanks,” Clary called over her shoulder as she stepped into the elevator. She opened the folder as the elevator sang Taylor Swift's _Haunted_ at her on the way up to the ninth floor. The folder contained some papers Jace needed copies of (exactly 8, no more, no less), a sticky note detailing various items he wanted her to go buy (staples, exactly 3 ripe mangoes, 0.5 pt. lead, letter-sized envelopes, and chocolate chip granola bars) and for her to go pick up a suit he had left to get pressed, and a hundred dollar bill she presumed was for her to pay for the stuff with, and lastly a sealed letter addressed to Magnus.

By then, she'd reached the ninth floor, and let herself into Jace's empty office, leaving her purse and the folder (minus the paper to be copied) on her desk. As she started towards the door, something on Jace's desk caught her eye: a set of old-fashioned stamps, the ones to be heated and pressed into wax seals. She realized that they must have been what Jace used to press the seal on the letter for Magnus.

She wasn't particularly compelled to go look at them, but Jace wasn't here and Clary had to admit that they were pretty damn cool, so she wandered over to inspect them, turning them over in her hands to read the embossed design. She made out one, surrounded by elegant lacework vines, to be the “HI” which was imprinted on Magnus's seal, and presumed it to stand for Herondale Industries.

The second, however, was a plain “C” in regal lettering, with what looked like a bird with its wings splayed out perched on the bottom cusp of the letter. Clary had to admit she couldn't think of what the “C” stood for. Maybe Camille? She shrugged and noticed a cup full of pens on Jace's desk and remembered the one she had stolen from him the Friday before. She hurried to her purse and replaced it, nesting it with its partners before she hurried out the door to go make copies. She didn't need any reason to upset Jace, even if it was just a pen.

Letting herself into the sixth floor copy room, she was still musing over the desk, and the decidedly _Jaceness_ of it. He was impeccable in his organization, not a thing out of place. The cup of pens was the most untidy it got, and she wondered how the pens not dare stand up in straight rows, defying gravity for him.

His apartment was similar, as far as she remembered, with the only things out of place being that which they touched throughout the night and next morning. She vaguely recalled a series of wine bottles lined against the windowsill in the kitchen, and though the memory was fuzzy with guilt and headache, she thought she remembered seeing the same set of stamps next to the bottles.

Lost in thought (and probably some nerves again) Clary didn't notice Simon come up behind her and lean against the copier. She jumped slightly and let out a gasp, and Simon moved forward to steady her, resting his hand on her shoulder.

“Whoa, sorry!” he said. “I didn't mean to startle you.”

“No,” Clary said, shaking her head. “It's me. I'm kind of jumpy today.”

“What's up?” Simon asked, concern clouding his gaze as he dropped his hand softly.

“I think I didn't sleep well last night,” Clary said, sticking to her same half-lie story. At least she was consistent. She finished setting up the copier job and the machine whirred to life.

“Well,” Simon said, over the buzz of shuffled papers. “Uh, I got this for you.” He pulled a tangle of ribbon out of his pocket, and Clary realized it was a lanyard. He passed it towards her, and she straightened it out, reading along the length: _You're ripped at every edge, but you're a masterpiece._

Simon rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “I heard you singing _Haunting_ when you were taking a shower the other night, and I thought you might like Halsey, so . . .” He trailed off, looking hopeful.

“I do!” Clary said quickly, and it seemed to reassure him. “Where did you get this? It's awesome.”

“I can't tell you all my secrets, Clary. How else am I supposed to get you birthday gifts?” The light in Simon's eyes had returned, happy and carefree.

Clary laughed softly. “I love it, Simon. Thanks,” she said, and slipped her dull white lanyard over her head and transferring her ID card to the new one.

“I'm glad you do.”

The copier finished Clary's print job and she started to collect the papers.

“Hey,” Simon said before she left. “You free for lunch?”

“Uh, I think so?” Clary said, choosing not to tell Simon that she might get fired that day, though the fear was lessening the more she fell into her work and routine tasks, but if she was fired, she'd definitely be free. Emotionally distraught, but free for lunch. “I have some errands to run for Jace, so I might be late, but we can do something. Text me?”

“Yeah, sure,” Simon said, and Clary waved her copies at him as way of goodbye.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note that the archive warnings have changed because I realized that this fic does indeed get kind of??? dark even though nothing is ever explicitly written out. Just, throwing some trigger warnings out there. If you're paying attention, it should be pretty well foreshadowed.


	25. Downworlder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> feat. Piece by Piece by Kelly Clarkson

Clary let herself into the bar. The letter in her hand was addressed to Magnus's home address, but it was late Monday morning, so Clary knew he'd be at the bar, checking inventory and receiving stock deliveries and the like. As she let the door close behind her, she heard Magnus abruptly lower the volume on _Piece by Piece_ by Kelly Clarkson.

Magnus called from where he must have been crouched behind the bar: “Bar's closed! Come back in like 7 hours or something.”

“It's me,” Clary announced, walking up to the bar.

Magnus straightened, lifting a crate of empty glasses onto the bar as he did so. “What are you doing here? Oh, God, you didn't get fired, did you?” Magnus looked relatively stricken and guilty.

“No, no,” Clary said quickly. “Nothing like that,” she assured him. “Well, yet.” She brandished the letter at him. “Jace is out this morning and he sent me on some errands. He left a letter to be delivered to you. It was supposed to go to your house, but I knew you weren't home, so I just saved myself the trip.”

“Oh,” Magnus said, relieved. He took the letter from her, raising an eyebrow at the wax seal. “No expense spared, that's for sure.” He grabbed a knife out of a drawer behind the bar and opened the letter.

“What is it?” Clary asked, leaning over the bar, though her height didn't let her lean over very far. She tiptoed, but with heels on, it still didn't make a difference.

Magnus's brow furrowed as he read, scanning the enclosed letter. “It's about the renovations. Generally scheduling plans and such, available contractors and workers, designers to choose from, businesses . . .” Magnus trailed off, reading again.

“Oh,” Clary said. “Nothing super important, then?”

“Eh, not really.”

“Damn, I was hoping to figure something out about Stephen Herondale. Oh, hey! I've been meaning to ask you.” Clary leaned back onto her heels and clapped her hands. “Simon mentioned something about Stephen Herondale hating bars? Or your bar specifically? I don't know really. It was just a comment he made, and I wasn't sure what to make of it. Do you know why?”

Magnus looked puzzled. He hummed thoughtfully. “I can't think of anything specifically . . . although . . .” Magnus mused, and turned the letter over to look at the seal. “No, I don't think so.”

“What?” Clary asked.

“I belong to sort of . . . I guess it's the equivalent of a gentleman's club, but mostly for bartenders. It's kind of an association. I'm not the most well-liked . . . Success tends to warrant enemies. But I doubt Stephen Herondale is a member, and even so, he's far better off than me. I can't particularly see why he'd even notice me.” Magnus shrugged. “If it's anything worth bothering with, it's probably just personal preference, and it hasn't seemed to do anything to disrupt business between us. I seem to have gotten a pretty good deal out of it, at least.”

“I don't know,” Clary said, worrying her ring again. “It just seems like something's up.”

“I wouldn't worry about it, Red,” Magnus said, and apparently he'd picked up Jordan's nickname for her at some point. “Hey, don't you have work to do?”

“Yeah, yeah, I should get going, I guess,” Clary said. “This was a lot less interesting than I originally thought it would be. Oh well. Bye Magnus.”

“Bye Red,” Magnus called as she walked out the door. She turned back just long enough to stick her tongue out at him. She heard him chuckling as she left.

A little ways down the road, she ran into Alec, who was walking in the direction of the bar, and greeted him.

“What are you up to, Clary?” Alec inquired, observing her internship attire. “Why were you at the bar? Well, I'm assuming you were.”

“I had to deliver something to Magnus from Herondale Industries,” Clary explained.

Alec looked like he was about to reply, but his phone rang, and he muttered a “hold on a sec,” before answering. “Hey, what's up?” he spoke into the phone.

A reply by the other person on the phone, and then Alec: “You what? Are you serious? Again?”

Pause. Alec sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Jace—”

“Jace?” Clary squeaked in panic.

“—You've got to be kidding me. What? Who was that? That was, uh,” Alec looked at Clary. She shook her head vigorously. “Just Izzy. She's, uhm, inhaling helium again. You know Izzy.”

Clary looked a mixture of distressed, insulted, and incredulous all at once. Alec shrugged angrily at her.

“Look, Jace. I'll come pick you up in a minute. I've gotta stop by _The Sparkling Glass_ , and then I have to walk back to my car. I left it at Izzy's.”

Jace's reply.

“Yeah, whatever. Bye.” Alec put his phone away, then said as way of explanation: “Jace got in another car accident?”

“Oh my God!” Clary gasped. “Is he okay?”

“He's fine,” Alec brushed it off. “He bounces, I swear. God forbid he bruise that pretty face of his,” Alec huffed.

Clary looked a bit dubious, but accepted Alec's assurance that Jace was alright. “Well, I still need to go grocery shopping for him,” Clary said. “So I better get going before you get him back to the office.”

“Right,” Alec said, but he glanced at his phone, and seemed preoccupied. “Yeah, okay.” Looking back up. “I'll see you later, then, Clary.”

Clary nodded, and hurried off. Something lingered in the back of her mind, something that she seemed to be forgetting to ask Alec, but her mind was far too focused on the task at hand, and her worry for Jace, and her sudden realization that she'd have to confront him soon, and she wasn't sure how well that would go. And just in general, she was starting to panic more.

Well. At least after this, things could only go up. She hoped she didn't jinx it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alternate chapter title: Jace Can't Drive for Shit (He jams too hard to Ariana Grande and gets distracted)


	26. Backwards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> feat. Last Night by Good Charlotte, Crash Your Party by Karmin, and Wings by Birdy  
> (wow that's a lot of songs for one chapter)

Clary had just finished putting away the envelopes, staples, and lead in Jace's desk, and was standing in the middle of the room holding exactly three ripe mangoes in her hands and wondering what on earth to do with them when she heard voices approaching from outside the office. She leaped to turn off Good Charlotte singing _Last Night_ as it played on her laptop.

“I swear, Alec,” Jace was saying. “This time it wasn't my fault. At all. The guy ran a red light. I was completely free of blame.”

“Uh huh,” Alec said, unamused.

“Seriously,” Jace continued, as he opened the office door. It swung open, revealing Clary, and Jace froze, caught in the sight of her.

Clary, who was still holding the mangoes, was a deer in headlights. What was he thinking? He'd obviously forgotten about her until now, but . . . His expression gave nothing away, though he didn't particularly look mad. After an eternity of awkward silence, Clary gestured the mangoes at Jace, and his face lit up with pleasant delight.

“Clary,” he announced, “You're a lifesaver.” Sauntering over, he took one of the mangoes from her, moved over to his desk, and produced a butter knife from one of the drawers. He dropped into his desk chair, put his feet up on the desk, and started cutting.

Jace was just popping a slice of mango into his mouth when Alec, from where he leaned against the door frame, said, “I'm not driving you around all week again.”

“Oh, come on. It wasn't that bad.”

“You insisted on listening to Ariana Grande all the time,” Alec pointed out. “It was terrible.”

“Magnus likes Ariana Grande,” Clary noted softly.

Alec sent her a look. “I might be dating him, but I've never trusted Magnus's taste.”

“I wouldn't either,” Jace piped up. “He picked you over me.”

“Asshole,” Alec huffed.

“You love me,” Jace said, matter-of-fact, and popped another mango slice into his mouth.

“You're getting a rental this time,” Alec told him.

“It won't be as long in the shop though. Only a couple of days, max,” Jace protested. “Besides, Most of my work trips are to Magnus's bar, anyway. And you're always heading over there. Or already there. What does me tagging along matter?”

“Well it definitely cuts down on Magnus's 'gettin' it,'” Clary muttered, loud enough for Alec to hear, but not Jace, since she was facing away from her boss. In response, Alec spluttered and turned red. Jace just looked really confused.

Alec regained some composure to respond to Jace. “Fine, but only for two days. If it takes any longer, I'm not driving you around.”

“Thanks Alec,” said Jace, actually sounding sincere. “Besides,” his tone switched to genuinely serious. “We need to work out something about Izzy.”

That was it. That was what Clary had meant to ask Alec about. She raised questioning eyebrows at him (seriously, how did people just raise one and why was she cursed to not have that ability).

Alec pinched the bridge of his nose, and then wiped his hand across his face, looking weary. “I-I'm not sure if there's anything we can do, Jace. Besides, I don't really want to meddle in her stuff. It's not really our business.”

“But if something's going on,” Jace argued. “We have to help her.”

“I think it's better if we're just there for her. You know her. Isabelle is far too independent to want us to stick are noses in to her relationship.” Alec sighed. “I wish I could do something, Jace. I wish I knew more. But I can't, and I don't want you to do anything either. There's nothing particularly wrong now, and I don't want to break a good thing.”

“I can agree with the 'if it's not broke, don't fix it' idea, but can't we find some way of getting information? There has to be something. Besides, Izzy may act like she hates us for our concern, but we both know she'd be glad for the help if something was wrong.” Jace's gaze on Alec's was intense, and Clary wondered if that was part of the reason he was a good businessman: his gaze was penetrating, golden and smoldering and ambitious. It was hard to say no to that look.

Clary noted Alec's icy blue eyes meeting Jace's fired amber optics, and some sort of understanding seemed to pass between the two of them, some trade of internal thought, pressed between the windows of their souls and shared amongst only them two. They were linked with a friendship of years of knowing and shared thought. They understood.

Clary, on the other hand, was completely out of the loop, and completely confused. “What's going on?” she asked into the silence, breaking Jace and Alec's emotional staring bond when they both turned to her.

“I'd better get going,” Alec said. “I'll pick you up later, Jace.”

Jace waved him off. “I'll take a taxi tonight, but I have a meeting tomorrow at 9 that it would be nice to have a ride to.”

“Right,” Alec said, giving Jace one last half-glare over his shoulder. “See you tomorrow.” He left the room, humming Karmin's _Crash Your Party_.

“So, uh what?” Clary said into the absence of Alec's presence.

“You remember Isabelle from the club, right?” Jace said. “We think she might be having some relationship issues. But she won't say anything to us.”

“What?” Clary exclaimed. “But she didn't—” She caught herself before she could finish: _But she didn't say anything to me!_ And instead, she ended: “—didn't seem at all like the type of person to have relationship problems. She and her boyfriend seemed to go so well together?” Clary voice quirked up at the end, making it sound more like a question.

“Yeah,” Jace said. “But we don't actually know anything. We're just suspicious. I don't think you'll be in the position to, but don't mention anything to her, just in case, okay?”

“Yeah, sure,” Clary said absently. She realized that she was still holding the other two mangoes, and put them both on Jace's desk. He had finished the one sometime during his conversation with Alec, and now started on the second when she brought them over. “Can I head off for lunch?”

“Yeah, sure,” Jace said. “Are you staying here?”

“No, I'm heading somewhere with Simon.”

“Oh,” Jace said.

Clary eyed him. “Did you need me for something?”

“No, no, just . . . yeah, go ahead and have lunch, Clary.” Jace kept working on his mango.

Clary watched him for a moment, then decided she was already late enough, and that she didn't particularly want to deal with Jace at the moment any more than she had to, because he was so distinctly unaffected by what had passed between them, and she was still jittery about, well, everything.

After lunch, Clary's mind had jumped from one thing to another. At the start of her day, it was all panic about getting fired and Jace and how she was going to face him, and here it turned out that should have been the least of her troubles. And then Izzy, wonderful, perfect, amazing Isabelle was having trouble with Sebastian? How were things so backwards?

Worst of all, Clary spent her time going through moments she'd been with Isabelle, looking for hints, for clues, for evidence. How did Izzy hide her emotions so well? Was Clary really so preoccupied with work and herself and—she had to face it—Jace to notice a friend hurting?

Clary's brain was drowning in questions she didn't have concrete answers to, and she didn't know how to search for answers either. Like Alec and Jace, she didn't want to confront Isabelle because she knew the other girl would just push her away, play it off as if everything was fine. Izzy was the best actor out of all of them, except perhaps Jace, and even if something was wrong, Clary wasn't sure if she'd be able to see through the facade.

Though a war waged in her mind, Clary continued with her work. By the end of the day, Clary decided that only time would tell what was going on, and she'd have to be ready to respond to whatever the real verdict was. As she packed up to go home, she turned off the music playing softly on her laptop, cutting off _Wings_ by Birdy midverse.

 


	27. Engaging

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> feat. One More Night by Maroon 5 and Honey, I'm Good by Andy Grammar

Isabelle had taken the night off of work yesterday, but when she flounced into the dressing room on a Tuesday afternoon as Clary was getting into her disguise, she was the picture of excitement. Practically vibrating, she leaned on the back of Clary's chair in front of the vanity and purred, “Soooo, how'd it go yesterday?”

Clary adjusted her wig and tucked a few stray red hairs underneath it. “Well, Jace was out all morning, and he sent me on errands while he was gone. Then he got in a car accident, so Alec had to pick him up, and they walked in on me holding his mangoes. And then we didn't really talk after that.”

Isabelle did a bit of a double take at the mango bit. “I'm sorry, what?”

“We didn't discuss it, at all,” Clary solidified, not realizing what Izzy was confused about.

Isabelle looked disconcerted for a moment more, before she shrugged it off. The two fell into silence, Clary humming along to _One More Night_ by Maroon 5 playing off her phone. Izzy impatiently tapped on her shoulders with her fingertips.

“You didn't ask how yesterday went for me,” she said, and Clary saw in the mirror she was fake pouting, but the excitement in her eyes was undeniable.

“Uh,” Clary said, “How was your day yesterday?”

Isabelle smirked, knowing and mischievous and Clary had to admit, ridiculously happy. Just as Clary started to say: “Actually, seriously, what happened?” Isabelle slid forward, leaning on Clary's shoulders, so that her arms rested against Clary and her hands were visible in the mirror.

A glint, diamond on silver, left hand.

Clary cursed, loudly, and then squealed, grabbing Isabelle's hand to look at the ring: silver-banded, with molded silver in the shape of a rose, and a bright diamond shimmering at its center. “You're not joking right?” She whirled in her chair to meet her friend's eyes.

“No!” Izzy squeaked. “He proposed last night.”

“Oh my God, Izzy, I'm so happy for you!” Clary cheered. “How—”

Isabelle didn't let her even finish the sentence. “It was amazing. Well, at first, it was kind of creepy, because Sebastian had booked a room in this really shabby hotel, and I thought he might be bringing me there to drug me and sacrifice me to a demon or something, but he opened the door—and I have no idea how he did it, must have been some engineering magic of his—and rose petals floated down and there were candles everywhere, and oh, God, Clary, it was everything any girl's ever dreamed of the perfect night.

“And there was this cute little balcony, and he had a bouquet of roses, and he handed them to me and said 'I know there's only eleven there, but I'll love you until the twelfth dies'. And then he knelt and proposed, and we had the best night we've ever had.” Isabelle delved into a happy, squealing mess on the couch as she finished.

Clary let a happy laugh escape past her lips, but the conversation between Jace and Alec lingered ominously in the back of her mind. Isabelle hadn't looked this happy in all the time Clary had known her. Even if something was going on, Clary couldn't ruin this for her. Not when she was this in love, this excited. She could practically see the hearts in Izzy's eyes. “Well,” she chuckled, “ You better sing great tonight with the mood your in.”

“You bet it,” Isabelle said, rolling off the couch and heading over to pick out clothes for the night. “I am a bit concerned about one thing, though,” she mused as she looked through the rack.

Clary's heart jumped, fear striking through her. She kept her voice level as best she could as she replied, “What's that?”

“Well, I know I can get connections through Magnus for the dresses, but I'm not sure where to have the wedding, or who to have cater, things like that. I mean, I guess Magnus could, but bar food isn't wedding food, you know?”

Was it relief that nothing serious was going on that flooded through Clary? Or was it still panicked adrenaline that Izzy was hiding the real problems from her? “Oh,” Clary said, and she decided she would focus on helping Isabelle. “Well, maybe Simon can help. He's interning for the advertising department, and I think they're in charge of all the conference things to invite new employees and stuff.”

“Oh, that would be awesome,” Isabelle said, holding up a outfit against her body and eyeing the mirror, then tossing things away. “Do you think you could call him?”

“I'll see if he's free tonight,” Clary said. “He can probably stop by.”

“Great!” Izzy chirped, and decided on a white halter dress, which she began slipping into.

Clary went back to her makeup, but only made it to foundation before Isabelle tsked at her and took over, because apparently Clary still couldn't do her own makeup (well, kind of, it was Avery's style) right. Clary took it upon herself to text Simon, his chirp of a text tone interrupting _Honey, I'm Good_.

 


	28. Aline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> feat. Shake It Out by Florence + the Machine and Blame It On the Rain by He Is We

“Clary, could you send this to Camille?” Jace said, lifting a file folder at her.

“Sure.” Clary took in from him and walked out of the room. The elevator sang her a lullaby of _Shake It Out_ by Florence + the Machine. Half-way through the week, and Clary was surviving. There wasn't really a palpable awkward tension between her and Jace, but she was still jumpy, and Jace's ability to brush the night off as if it didn't happen was disconcerting to say the least.

It kind of hurt.

Just a little.

It wasn't that Clary was particularly ashamed of the one night stand, but it wasn't wrong to say it was out of character for her. And part of her had hoped that there was more to it than just the one night. Sometimes she thought that Jace getting mad at her, firing her, anything, would be better than this silent nonexistence.

It was the apathy that hurt.

Because Clary couldn't deny that in the past month, she'd come to care. She liked Jace. She liked him the day she started, but now in comparison to sleeping with him, admitting that she had a crush was nothing. Even losing it all would be better, because then she _knew_ there wouldn't be a chance for her to have him.

But like this, there was still hope, and nerves, and the constant fear that in reality, Jace hated her, and was just very very good at hiding it.

Clary approached Camille at the front desk, still feeling it was rude to come in the back way, because that was Camille's desk space and . . . Well, Clary was awkward. “Camille?”

The receptionist looked up, a pleasant smile on her face. “Hi, Clary. What do you need?”

“Jace sent this down,” she said, and passed over the folder.

“What?” Camille took it, looking puzzled. “Oh, oh . . .” she murmured. “Thanks, Clary.”

Clary nodded and walked back towards the elevator. As she stepped in, she heard Camille speak into the phone on her desk: “Jace, Aline will be here this afternoon.” Aline? Who was she? Maybe Jace was slowly getting rid of all need for Clary, and Aline was a new secretary for him. It would probably do him good, seeing as Clary no idea really how to be a secretary.

When she let herself back into Jace's office, he looked up from whatever he was doing to watch her. “Clary, I have to meet someone after lunch today, so you can have the afternoon off.”

“Oh,” Clary said intelligently, the words hitting her like a slap. He didn't want her to even see her replacement? Maybe that was a good thing, Clary realized. She already felt bad enough about herself and in general about the whole situation. “Okay.”

Clary went back to work, but her mind didn't. Still on Jace, still on this mystery Aline, still on the pain of Jace's uncaring demeanor. He wasn't mean, or rude, just blank, compared to when she'd first met him. The flirting hadn't stopped (she wondered, sometimes, if he even recognized he was doing it) but it had lessened drastically, though occasionally she caught his eyes, dark and molten, on her, and she had to look away.

As she packed up to go, she heard the ding of the elevator's greeting, and she closed her laptop, cutting off He Is We's _Blame It On the Rain_. In the hallway, she passed a pretty girl with straight black hair and sharp features: the picture of elegance in her dark blazer and skirt. She nodded a greeting to Clary as she walked by, and Clary felt herself shrink. As she entered the elevator, Jace's door shut behind the woman, and she heard Jace's rushed and muffled greeting: “Oh, hello, Aline. I wasn't expecting you this early.”

Clary didn't hear Aline's reply.

Her heart hurt.

If anything Clary wished she could go to Simon, but she didn't want to pain him with her heartbreak. It wasn't even really heartbreak. She just felt lonely, like when she'd finally befriended Jace, she went and lost him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't proofread I'm sorry I just gave up


	29. Aggressively Bisexual Magnus Bane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> feat. Stone Cold by Demi Lovato

Isabelle sipped at a lavender-colored drink she'd served herself up at the bar. Clary scowled at her. “Aren't you working?”

“I'm still celebrating my engagement,” she argued.

“Knowing you,” Clary said, “You'll be so-called 'celebrating your engagement' until you get married, just so you can get away with drinking at work.”

“Oh, come on. It doesn't have that much alcohol in it.”

“Didn't you pour tequila into a glass to start mixing that?”

“It was just a little.”

“Izzy, with you, there's never 'just a little' tequila.”

“Oh, you leave me alone . . . Is that Jace?”

Clary followed Isabelle's gaze, trailing over the bar's patrons until she found Jace lingering near the entrance with Aline by his side. They were both still dressed for work, so they must have just come from Herondale Industries, even though the work day was over two hours ago.

“Yes,” Clary said, thought she was sure Isabelle already knew the answer. No one who knew Jace could mistake him for anyone else or vise-versa.

“Who is he with?”

“Aline. I think she's his new secretary.” Clary sounded miserable.

“Wow,” Isabelle said. “He got over you quick.”

“Yeah.”

Magnus came up behind the two of them, looking pointedly at the drink in Izzy's hand, then rolling his eyes. “No kidding,” he commented. “Can you still perform?”

Clary swallowed, watching Jace and Aline make their way over to one of the booths. “Yeah. But first, Izzy, mix me one of those.” She motioned at the other's drink. Isabelle got to work and within a couple of moments, had another whatever it was ready. Clary downed it.

“Wow,” Magnus said. “If Jace knew it was you, I'm pretty sure he'd find that seriously hot. I know I did.” Isabelle chuckled, nodding agreement.

Clary glared. “I'm pretty sure it doesn't beat the flaming shots.”

“What?” Magnus said, at the same time Izzy almost choked on her drink.

“When did that happen?” she squeaked. “Why do I not know?”

Followed by Magnus: “Damn, I need to get on getting those for the bar.”

Isabelle looked pleased. “Do I get to drink them to demonstrate how to customers?” she asked Mangus. He gave her a look.

“Anyway,” Magnus said. “Ready, Clary?”

“As I'll ever be.”

Clary went backstage, and as usual, as she set up her mic, the stagefright hit. It had gotten better, she noticed, with the performances as Avery, though maybe that was just because everything else she was afraid of right now made going on stage pale in comparison.

When was it that she had changed from being afraid of being in front of crowds to being in front of one person? Jace was the turning point in her life—the internship, the disguise, the new friends . . . Well, at least one.

Clary wanted nothing but to hide behind stage, to avoid going out to preform, to avoid watching Jace play another girl, or maybe love another girl. Maybe Aline would be the one. Maybe. And Clary had to watch that spark light, and she wasn't ready for that, not when Jace so precisely cut her out without a word about what happened, about how he felt.

Yeah, maybe the stagefright itself was nothing compared to the hurricane of emotions in her heart. She took a deep breath, and fell into her mental disguise. She wasn't Clary. She would leave Clary's problems behind. Now it was Avery's turn, and all Avery had to worry about was putting on a great show, and tending the bar, and laughing and entertaining guests.

But Clary wasn't that good at isolating her emotions like that. The boxes that she tried to lock them away in tended to tip over and the feelings would spill out upon her mindscape again. So she clung to the anchor between Avery and Clary: Simon.

So Clary—no, Avery—stepped out onto the stage to preform for Jace and Aline, and a mess of other patrons (two large parties in the front of the room, a few small groups, a girl by herself with a familiar face, and Sebastian must have come in while Clary was getting ready because he was lurking at the bar), and she put on her show.

Clary sang. _Stone Cold_ by Demi Lovato.

She sang for the loneliness.

She sang for Simon.

 


	30. Of Herons, Thorns, and Falling Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> feat. Youth by Foxes and FOOLS by Troye Sivan

Clary arrived at work early the next day, as per requested by the instructions Jace texted her in a couple of lines the night before (Be at work at 7:00 A.M. Tomorrow. Meet me on the twelfth floor. Be prepared.) which sent her into a flurry of nerves, once again. She felt her throat tighten uncomfortably as she approached the building.

What did the warning mean? Was today the day he was going to fire her? Why did she need to go to Stephen Herondale's floor? Why the hell was Jace so cryptic? God, she needed to deal with the ridiculous number of rhetorical questions in her head. It would have been nice if someone gave her some answers.

Not that anyone would help her. Anyone else was just as clueless as her in any topics she needed to ask about. She'd just have to tough it out.

But that was getting harder and hard to do.

Clary let herself into the building, the empty chair at which Camille normally sat glared with an unsettling emptiness as she passed. The intercom hummed _Youth_ by Foxes. Clary got in the elevator.

The glow of the elevator buttons cast pinpoints against Clary's hands.

Her fingers shook.

She fiddled with her ring, twisting it against her skin.

Time stretched, interrupted only by the ding of the elevator, counting floors.

One, two, three . . . twelve.

Clary swallowed hard, feeling her heart stutter in anxious panic.

The elevator doors opened to reveal Jace, his lion's mane hair tousled and eyes bright, gleaming with energy but oddly wild, the look of a madman.

“Jace?” Clary said, tentatively, and he tugged her into the hallway.

“Clary,” he hissed, sounding like he did when she'd first gotten in to the building at the staff function. “Look, I'm sorry, I tried to avoid this, but technically my father's in charge of all employees, so you had to meet him eventually. Especially since you're my acting secretary.”

“Uh, what?” Clary said. “What does he want from me? And why are you so afraid of him?”

“I'm not afraid of him,” Jace said indignantly. “It's just a routine check kind of thing. You shouldn't need to worry about it. I think.” He patted her shoulder, and then straightened her collar for her. Then Jace nudged her in the direction of a set of heavy wooden doors, carved with herons, wings spread, and twisting vines against a background of a star-filled sky.

Clary hovered in front of the doors. She looked back at Jace and he gave her a thumbs-up. She wasn't sure if that was in any way reassuring. She turned to face forward, and took a steadying breath. Her heart beat a thousand beats a minute.

The rap of her fist against the wood echoed down the hallway. A gruff “Come in” followed.

Clary opened the door.

Stephen Herondale was not a man to be taken lightly. Though sitting, he appeared to be tall, like Jace, which was a silly notion because shouldn't Jace be like him and not the other way around? His blond hair, clipped short, almost military-style haircut, was brushed back, impeccable and perfect in a way very similar to Jace's though in a very different style.

His gaze, when he met Clary's, was the blue of oceans, dark and deep and knowing and terrifying. Clary decided immediately that she preferred Alec's crystal ice, light and warm. It was the difference between falling into a puddle and falling into the ocean: the curious would be swept away and killed by one, and encouraged and grow from the other.

Electricity spiked down Clary's spine, and she had to force herself to step forward. Move one foot, then the other . . .

“Clarissa . . . Fairchild, is it?” Stephen Herondale began.

“I—uhm, yes?” Clary managed.

Stephen looked at her. “Well,” he said, and then left it at that. “I just wanted to go over some personal information with you, and meet you in person. That sort of thing. Nothing big.”

Clary nodded.

“Won't you have a seat?” Stephen said, motioning at the chairs on the other side of his desk.

Clary hurried over to sit down. She tried not to look as if she was perching on edge of the chair, trying to escape, though really that's all she wanted to do. Then again, Jace was on the other side of the door, and she wasn't sure she wanted to face him either.

“Now, is this your correct address?”

Stephen Herondale read out her address, and Clary managed a “Y-Yes, sir,” in reply.

“And this is your first place of work?”

“Well, uhm,” Clary started, and Stephen looked up at her with the penetrating ocean-deep eyes. She swallowed. “I've done a couple of other jobs, but they're more like volunteer work. A friend of mine is a teacher, and so he set me up helping some of the schools nearby when they had festivals and things.” That wasn't completely untrue. Alec was a long-term substitute teacher and he'd set her up with a few things here and there. And Magnus had her perform a couple of times. “I didn't figure they were significant to put on my resume.”

“Ah, well, helping the community is still good work. I would suggest you record it next time.” He looked back at the papers in his hands.

Clary almost breathed a sigh of relief, but she held it in. “Yes, sir.”

They went over a couple of other things, basic personal information, and then Stephen said: “I do hope you understand there is a certain quality of character and work we expect at Herondale Industries. As long as you uphold those values, I'm sure you'll be fine. The main rule involving that is I expect my employees to avoid any Downworlder establishments.”

Downworlder? What the hell? Clary nodded along, anyway, as if there were even the possibility of her disagreeing with Stephen Herondale. She'd deal with whatever Downworlder meant later. “Yes, sir.”

“Very well,” said Stephen. “That's all, Ms. Fairchild. You're free to go. Please keep up the good work. My son tells me you're a very diligent secretary. There may be a more permanent position open for you here, in time. We'll see.”

Clary let herself out of Stephen Herondale's office, and the door, closing resolutely behind her, gave her some relief as a barrier between the two of them.

But then there was Jace, who looked excited, for some reason. Perhaps he was glad she survived, or perhaps he was excited at the idea of getting rid of her, and he thought his father had fired her. But he came up to her, brushed a stray hair back from her face. She forced herself to meet his eyes—dark, wanting, liquid gold.

Suddenly, he grabbed her by the waist, lifting her into the air and spinning her, before pressing her back to the wall, with his body against hers. He silenced her surprised squeal with his lips, and she fell into him, warm and desiring and not at all what she expected.

Pressed against her, Jace kissed her, and her heart shattered.

Jace's fingertips brushed against her neck, sending shivers across her skin. Clary must have been dreaming, because at some point, she thought she heard _FOOLS_ by Troye Sivan playing from somewhere.

But then she wasn't dreaming, because she did hear the music, and Jace did too. And then it cut off, followed by a voice: “Yes, I'm on my way to get it now.” Yes, she heard the footsteps now. They weren't alone. It must have been the other person's ringtone.

Jace broke away, leaned his forehead against Clary's for a moment long enough to say: “You did amazing.”

Clary, breathless, couldn't manage words before he ducked away, jogging around the corner to greet the person who was walking by: Aline. Her voice was light and airy when she said: “How did it go? Did you get the recording?”

“Perfect,” Jace replied, dropping something into her open palm. “Clary did great, and we got it.”

“Wonderful,” Aline said, and she led Jace to the elevator.

As the doors closed behind them, she heard Jace begin to say: “I wish you hadn't . . .” And then they were gone.

Clary was left there, in the hallway outside Stephen Herondale's office, blinking at the empty space. What had just happened? Recording? What did she have to do with it? The realization hit her, the mental light bulb clicking on. Jace fixing her collar, and then touching her neck afterward . . . He must have bugged her, to record her conversation with Stephen Herondale.

But why? And why her? How the hell was she supposed to feel after what Jace just did? He used her, for whatever gain he was getting by a recording of her and his father. For some reason, Aline was involved too, and Clary felt herself more confused and emotionally drained than she had walking in to work that morning.

She had no idea how she was going to keep this up.

 


	31. Clandestine Dealings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> feat. i'm sorry i keep forgetting to update, voltron has consumed my life, and also i haven't proofread a chapter in like 6 years  
> send help my life is a mess

Jace was out all morning after the interview and the kiss and the encounter with Aline.

Clary was determined to find answers. At this point, after all the damage she'd done to her own reputation and mental health by sleeping with Jace, snooping through his stuff (even if it got her fired) was nothing in comparison. She'd already resigned herself to being done for, anyway.

At least she was better than Izzy . . . Well. But Isabelle was happy, engaged, had solid work, was confident in her place in life . . . And Clary—well—Clary was confused, and probably a bit lost at this point, and if this sort of thing was all there was to a business major, she wasn't sure if she still wanted all the trouble.

But regardless of her internal dilemmas, she was determined to find out some answers about Stephen Herondale and Jace and the company in general, and whatever Downworlder meant. There were far too many things she was uninformed about, and she was tired of being in the dark.

So Clary spent the morning going through Jace's desk. She'd looked through it before, when she was putting away groceries, or delivering something to him when he was out doing things, but she'd never really paid attention to anything out of place (it felt too much like snooping).

Not that anything was out of place, when it came to Jace's things. He was far too organized. Clary sifted through the drawers, methodically, picking out stray papers and reading them over. Most were about old business ventures, but she occasionally found more recent ones, including one or two about Magnus's bar.

Neither papers about Magnus were very helpful, but she did notice something odd on something that looked like a form or application of some sort. The title of the box was “affiliation” and instead of any distinctive answer, there was an “x” marked in red pen. Clary took a picture of it with her phone before putting everything back in its place.

She found the set of stamps in one of the top drawers, and took a picture of those too. Never know, maybe she misread one of them and Magnus might recognize them. In the back of that drawer, under the velvet lining, she found a letter, unopened, with a wax seal. The same “C” on the stamp was imprinted upon it.

It was then that Clary was presented with a choice: open the letter and risk Jace finding out, or put it back and have the curiosity eat at her. She was in the middle of an intense staring contest with the letter when the door opened.

Clary squeaked and chucked the letter in the drawer as quickly as possible, leaping out of Jace's desk chair, and the collapsing back into it when she realized it was Simon who had walked in.

“Oh, my God, Simon,” she gasped. “You almost gave me a heart attack.”

“Uh, sorry?” Simon said, confused. “It's lunchtime. You never texted me what you wanted to do, so I grabbed some Subway for you.”

“Thanks,” Clary said. “I'm not really hungry.”

“Well, it's here if you want it,” Simon said, lifting the bag at her in gesture before leaving it on her desk. “What are you doing?”

Clary sighed and slumped in the chair. “Just trying to get fired.”

“Seriously?” Simon said, sounding worried. “Why?”

“Not really,” Clary said. “I just don't know what's going on, and I'm tired of it, and I don't know what to do. I'm trying to find something useful.” She motioned at Jace's desk. Then, lifting the stamped letter: “All I found was this, but I don't know whether I should open it or not.”

“I think Maia has a high power LED flashlight,” said Simon. “We could try reading through it.”

“That works?” Clary looked skeptical.

“Most of the time. It can't hurt to try. Better than opening it right off the bat.”

“That's so simple. Is she out for lunch?”

“Yeah, but I'll text her. I think she has it in her office somewhere.” Simon motioned at the food on her desk. “You should really eat something.”

Clary shrugged. “Just try not to mention we need it to read through Jace's mail.”

Simon eyed the letter over his phone. “I don't think it was mailed. There's no stamp or address. It must have been delivered by hand. Or something like that. Crazy wax stamp, though. Pretty cool. I've got to get me one of those.”

“What do suppose it stands for? The 'C,'” Clary asked. She wandered over to her desk and nibbled at the potato chips Simon had brought her.

“Clary starts with 'C,'” Simon said, helpfully.

“Well I didn't stamp it. Or give it to Jace, so I doubt it was me. Kaelie's name doesn't start with a 'C,' does it?”

“Kaelie? Jace's secretary? I don't think so. Why?”

“Just the only other thing I can think of it might stand for. It might be Camille, but I don't think so. I never noticed her having any stamps, and the letter was hidden in his desk, unopened, so I think Jace maybe didn't want to read what it was. I don't see why Camille would send him anything he didn't like.” Clary rubbed her face with her hands. “I just don't know.”

Simon's phone chirped. “I'm gonna go get the flashlight, okay? I won't bring it back until you eat something more than potato chips.”

“You'll bring it back anyway.”

“Just, please, eat?”

The look of worry passing over Simon's face forced Clary into having an appetite. “Okay.”

While Simon was gone, Clary attempted to eat, and tried to avoid thinking about Jace and his lips and his touch and his—well, what was it? Betrayal? Clary didn't know what to make of the situation still, and while she knew there was no simple answer, for some reason she kept trying to analyze and theorize and it was honestly tiring out her mind.

 


	32. Additional Drama

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> feat. What Do You Mean? by Justin Bieber

By the time Simon returned, she had managed to get through about a third of her sandwich (Simon did good—it was her favorite, but she still had a hard time bringing herself to eat; she was just too stressed). He looked at least relatively appeased, and handed her the flashlight.

“Just shine it through the letter, I think.”

Clary did as Simon said, and managed to make out some of the words written, but seeing as the paper was folded in thirds within the envelope, she was only able to make out the top third, at best. She read aloud to Simon: “'Dear Mr. Jonathon Herondale . . . Congratulations! On behalf of the Council, we are pleased to welcome you as a fledgling member of the Clave. . . You are one of the honored few allowed to join this prestigious group of high society businessmen and women. Take pride in your admission . . .' I can't make the next part out until: '. . . please remember that select few are invited and informed of this privileged title. Be discrete in your expression of membership . . .' And that's all I can get.”

“What's the 'Clave'?” Simon asked.

“I don't know,” said Clary. “Besides apparently a group of 'high society businessmen and women,' I'm not sure. But I'm willing to bet that's what the 'C' on the stamp is for.”

Simon looked like he was about to reply, but at that moment, a voice floated from down the hallway: “Yes, Aline, I've got it, don't worry.” Simon looked panicked.

Clary hissed in warning, “Jace!” and shoved the letter back where she'd found it. She hurried over to Simon and tossed him the flashlight. “Thanks for letting me borrow your flashlight to find my ring,” she told Simon, a bit too loudly.

He looked at her, confused, then caught on to the cover up. “Oh, sure, no problem, Clary.” He very obviously winked, and turned to leave.

Jace opened the door and a look of mild surprise passed over his face. “Oh. Sorry, Aline,” he told the phone. “Clary was just back already and I didn't realize. No, no problem.” Pause. “Okay, bye. Tomorrow, right?” Pause. “Yeah. See you.”

“Well, bye Clary,” Simon said calmly, and walked past Jace, out the door.

Jace lowered his phone and stuffed into his pocket. “Clary,” he said, and then stopped. He watched her, gaze softly lingering over her skin. She couldn't meet his eyes, so she watched his hand, still in his pocket from where he'd dropped his phone in.

He took a step forward, and Clary turned and sat at her desk, still avoiding his gaze as she opened her laptop. As it blinked to life, _What Do You Mean?_ by Justin Bieber started playing softly. Jace seemed to wake from his trance, and his hand moved from his pocket to his neck. “Clary, uhm, well, Alec's birthday is today, and I was wondering if you wanted to come with us? We were just going to celebrate it with drinks at _The Sparkling Glass_ , and maybe a cake or something.”

Oh, crap. It was Alec's birthday was today, and she'd forgotten to get him anything. Well, he could deal with a late birthday gift. Magnus had already told her about it—it was supposed to be a surprise, but she was sure Alec knew because Magnus was terrible at keeping secrets from his boyfriend.

But Jace didn't know that Magnus had invited her, and she couldn't show up all of the sudden because as far as Jace knew, he was the closest link between her and Alec.

“Uh, yeah, sure.” She looked for something to say. Then, realizing Jace didn't know that she knew where the address was, she added: “Could you text me the address?”

Jace looked slightly surprised she agreed, and hurried to dig his phone out of his pocket. “Sure,” he said, sounding rather pleased. “I'll do it as soon as my phone turns on.”

A few moments later, Jace texted Clary the address she had known by heart for the past two years, at least. The whole ordeal was just such a tapestry of intrigue, and Clary's head was starting to hurt from it all.

It wasn't until she was packing up to leave work that she realized something: if Jace's phone was off when he walked in, he couldn't have been talking to Aline . . . So why pretend? Just to hurt her? To remind her that he wasn't hers, right before he invited her to a party? Clary blinked away confused and angry tears. God, what the hell was he doing to her?

She left without a word, silently slipping out the door and letting the wood seal behind her with resolve.

And it wasn't until she arrived at the bar for work that she realized something else: she was performing tonight, on stage. As Avery. She couldn't be Clary, sitting with Jace and Alec and Izzy and Magnus, and be Avery on stage at the same time. It was impossible.

Clary cussed, loudly and profusely. Magnus poked his head out from the kitchen. “Good day at work I take it?” he said sarcastically.

Clary glared, then grabbed a bottle of vodka off the shelf behind the bar and poured herself a shot, downing it before she replied. “Magnus, I screwed up. Bad.”

 


	33. Of Poetry and Bartending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> feat. Temporary Bliss by The Cab

“Relax,” Magnus said. “You can just tell him you're gonna be late. You preform, and then afterward, go out the back window and come in the front.”

Clary let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. She sat down at the bar, listening for a moment to _Temporary Bliss_ by The Cab as it played from Magnus's phone docked to the speakers behind the bar _._ “You're right. Okay. Okay. I can do this. I can fix this.”

“Yes you can,” said Magnus reassuringly as she tapped away a message on her phone.

“Something came up. Will be late to Alec's bday party, sorry,” it read. Clary sent it, and slid her phone halfway across the bar. “I think I need another shot,” she said, but Magnus grabbed the bottle before she could and put it on a high shelf. “Not fair,” she huffed.

“You're not performing drunk. The last time I let Isabelle do that, it went terrible.”

“I don't even wanna know,” said Clary. “Oh, Magnus. We think we might have found out something about Stephen Herondale.”

“What's that?” Magnus said, not perched on the bar counter next to Clary. “And who is this 'we'?”

“Me and Simon.” Magnus looked at her disapprovingly, Clary waved him off an continued: “It's fine, he's sworn to secrecy by friendship automatically at this point. Anyway, I found a letter in Jace's desk. It wasn't opened, but we used a flashlight to read part of it, and it was this acceptance letter to this like secret society high class group or something called the 'Clave.' Does it ring any bells?”

Magnus shook his head. “Not that I know of. The club I belong to goes by 'Downworlders.'”

Clary almost fell out of her chair. “What? Oh, God.”

“What?” asked Magnus, looking at her stricken expression with concern.

Clary swallowed hard. “Stephen Herondale wanted to see me this morning, an interview of sorts. The last thing he said to me was to stay away from 'Downworlder establishments.'”

Magnus was silent for a moment. “Clary,” he said seriously. “I'm really starting to think you should actually quit.”

“Not yet,” Clary said, though she dropped her head into her hands. “I want to try to stay. I'm starting to reconsider my business major though, after everything with Jace. I'm just so confused.”

She lifted her head and looked at Magnus with an almost incredulous look. “He kissed me today, after the interview, after acting like a stranger for the entire week. And he bugged me with a mic while I was in there?” Clary shook her head furiously. “I have no idea what's going on. I want answers. To all of it. But I can't quit here. I think the bar is more of a safe haven than anywhere else at this point.”

“Well, okay.” Magnus hopped to the floor. “Just, don't overwork yourself, okay? If it gets to be too much, or gets any more dangerous at the internship, you're quitting here.”

“Okay,” Clary said. She fell into silence, listening to the click of glasses as Magnus cleaned the bar, reorganizing. It was a habit Clary had always found interesting about Magnus—he never liked things the same way. Always, if he could, something was new, different, the bar redecorated or the tables placed in new positions.

Maybe it was why Magnus started running his bar like an old speakeasy, with singers, and the aura of plain, unadorned outside, with an inviting and exciting inside. Magnus had brought together the fun, wild lightheartedness of a 1900s speakeasy while still bringing the comfort and reliability of everyone's favorite bar.

Clary wondered, occasionally, what exactly it was that brought Magnus to where he was today.

He caught her staring as he washed a margarita glass. “What's up?”

“Just wondering how you got here,” Clary said, a bit wistfully.

Magnus rose an eyebrow at her. “Uh, my car?”

Clary was surprised into laughing. “No, I meant, like . . . in life. How you got here in life. Successful, with the bar. What decisions led you here. I . . . I kind of wonder if I'm at that point right now—where my choices are gonna affect where I go, who I end up being . . . If I'm happy.”

“Clary,” Magnus said, his voice laced with empathy and possibly sadness. He green-yellow gaze looked weary and ancient when she met it. “I don't think you will ever be limited by a single choice you make now. At least, you shouldn't look at it like that. If anything, the decisions you face now should be the ones that you worry about for now. The future has its own choices to be made, and whether or not you are happy then doesn't depend on what you do, but rather how you see your situation.

“If it's any consolation,” Magnus finished, looking embarrassed as he dried a shot glass. “The reason I ended up running a bar was because I wanted to preform my poetry in it, but they would only hire me as a busboy. At the time, I thought that job wasn't going to lead me anywhere.”

“But you didn't follow your dream,” Clary said. “To preform poetry.”

“But I'm happy,” Magnus countered. “And who says I don't? Alec is a good audience when he's gasping underneath me.” He winked.

“Oh, oh God,” Clary said. “That's cute and way too much information at the same time. Okay, yeah, I'm leaving now. Bye.” She slipped off the chair and ducked into the back room, Magnus's laughter filling the bar with warm and a sensation Clary could only describe as _home_.

 


	34. The Charade Continues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> feat. Almost Lover by A Fine Frenzy

Peering through the curtain, Clary saw Jace and Alec conversing at the bar. Magnus was leaning towards them, obviously listening and occasionally commenting on whatever they were discussing. It was lighthearted, colored with friendship, and Clary couldn't help but smile softly at the scene. Something about it was just so pure at heart, despite it being about eleven at night in a bar.

If only Clary could just leave it at that. If only she didn't know Jace, or if only this was the first time she'd met him. It would make things so much simpler, so much easier. But she couldn't ignore the fact she knew him, except that she had to, because right now she wasn't Clary.

Half the time, it was all too much.

Magnus was right. She should quit. Whether at the bar or at the internship . . . She wasn't sure. Certainly quitting the internship would make her life a lot easier, but at the same time, it would shatter her hopes at adding Stephen Herondale's recommendation to her resume. And quitting at the bar . . . She couldn't. She didn't want to. Clary loved it too much.

Stepping on stage as her music cued, she felt the spike of fear shoot through her like an arrow, but she ignored it. She just had to get through this. Get through tonight. And then tomorrow morning, and then it would be the weekend, and she could be free of it all for a couple of days. Free of Jace.

So Clary began her performance of _Almost Lover_ by A Fine Frenzy, and the words resonated with her. She sang, and her heart ached painfully. This was her stepping back, giving up on Jace and trying to understand him, and hoping, hoping she could distance herself enough to make it all bearable.

By the time she finished the song, she was almost crying, but in the glare of the lights, she held back the tears. The music faded, she finished the last verse, and her gaze trailed over to Jace. He met her eyes for a split second, and Clary turned and fled from the stage.

Magnus met her behind the curtain. She passed him the microphone. As she retreated to the back room to take off her disguise, she heard Magnus announcing last call on food and bar drinks because, while the building would still be open, the bar would be closed for a party.

Isabelle came in while Clary was doing her normal makeup. “You okay?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Clary said. “Just a mess, still. I only need to survive tonight and tomorrow until the end of work. I'll get through it, I hope.”

Isabelle came up and gave Clary a half-hug from behind. “You'll be fine. We'll watch out for you. I'll make sure to sit next to Alec and kick him if he starts saying anything he shouldn't.”

Clary laughed. “Thanks, Izzy.”

“You bet,” Isabelle said, slipping out of the room. “Good luck.”

Clary finished returning to normal, unsuspecting Clary. Unfortunately that also meant she had to return to her problems with Jace, and the internship, and . . . no. She may have sung as Avery, but she should do as she had just performed. This was her goodbye. No more caring about Jace, or what he did, any of it.

It was a lot easier said than done.

Taking a deep breath, Clary made her way out of the back door of Magnus's bar, and turned down the alley adjacent to it. As she rounded the corner to the front of the building, and found Jace outside staring at her. His phone was in his hand, with the words “call ended” displayed across the screen.

He looked at her, puzzled. “What were you doing in the alley?”

Clary slightly panicked. “I—uhm—th-there was a cat?”

“What?” Jace said.

“Y-Yeah, there was a cat, and it looked kind of . . . scrawny? Anyway, I tried to pet it, but it ran away? Yeah.” Good job, Clary, great excuse.

“Oookay then,” Jace said, looking slightly dubious but not willing to question her further. “Well, I'm glad you came. Everyone's inside. Let's go?”

Clary nodded. “Lead the way.”

Jace opened the door for her, letting Clary go in first. Now that she'd already screwed up and almost blew her cover once today, she was on high alert on doing anything that might be suspicious, so though she already knew where the table for Alec was set up, she let Jace catch up and lead the way.

 


	35. Happy Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> feat. Love Bites (So Do I) by Halestorm

“Look who I found,” Jace announced as he sat next to Isabelle (who was, as she promised, next to Alec).

Alec, sitting at the head of the table and wearing a blue-sequined party hat cone that Magnus must have forced him into, waved. Magnus was on his other side. Clary took the empty seat next to him.

“So, you all met Clary before, right?” Jace said. “Except maybe Magnus. Magnus this is Clary. Clary, Magnus.” Jace said, as they all settled after various greetings.

“We've met before,” Magnus said, then to Clary: “When you brought me the letter from Herondale Industries. But, all the same, nice to meet you.”

“You too,” Clary managed, significantly more awkward than Magnus managed to play off, but passable.

She was saved from having to come up with any sort of conversation by Jordan, who Magnus must have hired to serve them. “Now, what can I get you all? We have a very expansive menu of hamburgers, hamburgers with cheese, or hamburgers with two cheese. All orders come with fries.”

“That sarcasm doesn't go unnoticed, Jordan,” Magnus huffed jokingly.

“You aren't paying me, and I'm your only cook for tonight, so I think I've earned the right to some sarcasm.” Jordan began jotting down requests as going around the table, the group named the number of cheese slices they wanted.

“Why didn't you keep your other worker for tonight, Magnus?” Jace asked, referencing Avery.

Panic struck through Clary, but Magnus responded coolly: “I'd have to pay her. Jordan is free. And the better cook.”

With the conversation and any issues about Clary's double life safely guided away from by Magnus's quick mind and tongue, the dinner passed without incident. That was, until Jordan brought out the cake. Twenty-three candles flickered upon the top, and as he set it down, he announced, “I think since Clary was late, she should start off the singing.”

Clary had assumed Magnus had warned Jordan of the situation, but Jordan could be difficult, and maybe Magnus hadn't quite stressed the seriousness of the ordeal. Such a great friend. Way to throw her under the bus. She held back the urge to send Jordan a death glare, and instead tried to play it off. “Not fair, you all knew I was coming late.”

“Oh, come on Clary,” Jace said. “Be a good sport.” He didn't say it, but she could feel the meaning behind the words: he was daring her to, and after he used that same phrase to get her into his bed, this should have been nothing.

She couldn't retreat now, and if anyone else made a big deal of it, it would raise too much suspicion. “Fine,” she said, forcing a shrug.

“Three, two, one . . . Happy birthday to you,” Clary started, and Magnus was the quickest to join in, trying to mask the talent of her voice under his own. The rest of the table, Jordan included, added their own song, singing to Alec, but it still didn't stop the look of surprise flickering over Jace's face when Clary had first started.

When they finished, Alec blew out the candles, and everyone clapped. Magnus retreated to the bar and began mixing drinks. As the rest of them settled down and Jordan began cutting the cake, Jace turned to Clary. “I didn't know you could sing.”

“Everyone can sing, Jace,” Isabelle said quickly, before Clary could respond. “The difference is how well. You do have a lovely voice, Clary, but it could use some training. Have you considered lessons?”

Thank God for Isabelle. “No,” Clary said, playing along. “I'm not really interested in pursuing it. It's just sort of a hobby for when I'm in the shower.”

Isabelle chuckled, and was prepared to leave it at that, but Jace wasn't. “You really should try lessons, though I don't think you need them. I don't know why your an intern with a voice like that.”

“Hey,” Isabelle said, sounding indignant, “I used to sing all the time in high school, and you never complimented me like that.”

“You are a singer,” Jace pointed out, but, conceding she had a point, added, “Sorry, Iz.”

“Cake?” Jordan offered. He already served Alec a slice, and was dividing up the rest for everyone else. Isabelle claimed second piece, then Jace, then Clary. Magnus returned with mixed drinks for everyone, whispering something in Alec's ear as he passed that made the blue-eyed boy blush.

The conversation turned to Alec and how he was ancient, and how Magnus was even more so, even though he was only a few years older, and then to other topics that were far enough from anything singing or working or Clary that the night went well.

But across the table, Clary and Jace played tag with their gazes, with Jace's constantly flickering over to watch her, and Clary adamantly avoiding his golden optics. As everyone got up to leave, with Alec leaning into Magnus's side (Clary had a feeling that Magnus wasn't done pampering his boyfriend for the night, but that was another story), Clary made it a point to avoid Jace, instead lingering near Isabelle. They determined they would ride home together in a cab, and Jace seemed to relent from any moves he was intending to make that night.

On the way home, listening to _Love Bites (So Do I_ ) by Halestorm, Clary let herself relax. That was, until Isabelle commented, “Sebastian was supposed to come, but I guess he got caught up with work for his classes.” Clary wasn't sure how to respond.

 


	36. Weekend Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> feat. ugh, an autobiography by resamille

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So you might have noticed that there are five or so chapters uploaded today, and that's for two reasons. One, to make up for the fact I keep procrastinating on updating, despite the fact this entire fic is already completely written.  
> And the second... well, I'll start with this: it's not that I am unhappy with this story, but it was written over the course of four years with lots of breaks in between working on it in big chunks whenever I had free time. I am proud to have finished it, but I am unfortunately not *done* with it, considering I still have to come back to it to upload chapters. Which just seems to get to be for some reason. Here I am, 70k+ words into a fic for the Voltron BB that I am exceedingly proud of, with a style and ability far more developed than within this story. In essence, it's nagging at me that the work I am currently uploading isn't an accurate portrayal of my writing ability.  
> That being said, I kind of want to be *done* with this, so I'm going to either A) upload far more often or B) upload in bigger chunks of multiple chapters like I have today. The second is a little more likely because I am both lazy and busy 102% of the time.

When Clary walked into work the next morning, yawning, she found Jace sitting on the floor in his office, surrounded by millions of papers.

That might not have been an exaggeration.

“Good morning,” he said, without looking up.

“Uh, hi,” Clary said. “What are you doing?”

“I'm a bit behind on work, and my desk is small. Also I like keeping it organized.”

“Just a bit behind?”

“Maybe a little bit more than a bit.”

“Is there anything you need me to do?” Clary asked tentatively, watching Jace suddenly drop what he was holding and lunge in the opposite direction to grab a different paper.

“Get me some coffee. Black. Actually, get me two coffees. When you get back, I have a pile of things that need to be typed out, so if you could start on that, it would be great.” He pointed at one of his piles of paper.

When Clary returned with Jace's request, he took one coffee from her without a word, chugged it, and handed her back the cup. He took the other and sat it next to him. Clary eyed him warily for a moment, slightly concerned, before picking up the stack of papers he'd indicated earlier and setting to work.

Time passed in silence, with Jace's focus on only that which was in front of him. At one point, his phone, sitting on his desk, rang.

“Can you answer that?” he said, still not bothering to look away from his papers.

Clary went over. Reading the screen, she said: “It's Aline.”

“Answer it,” ordered Jace.

Clary picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“That's not Jace,” Aline said. “Who's this?”

“It's Clary, his secretary, sort of.”

“Oh,” Aline said pleasantly, “Hi, Clary.”

“Jace told me to answer his phone. Uhm . . .” She looked over at Jace.

“Ask her what she needs,” Jace told her.

“He wants to know what you need,” Clary echoed to Aline.

“Tell him I got the records, but I'm going to be busy at the Clave meeting tomorrow, so he's going to have to go over them alone. I'll have them delivered.” There was another female voice in the background on the line. It sounded familiar, but Clary couldn't place it. “I have to go. Bye Clary. Also, tell Jace I'll set up the meeting for Sunday.”

“Uh, okay,” Clary said. “Bye.” The line went dead. Clary repeated Aline's message to Jace, and he nodded, then seemed to process what she had told him.

“Wait.” He finally looked up, at Clary. She was struck by how stressed he looked. “She wants me to go through all of those reports alone? There's no way.” He groaned and flopped backwards onto the floor, crumpling the papers behind him. “You don't happen to be free tomorrow, Clary, do you?”

Clary settled herself in Jace's chair, watching him. “Why?”

“Because tomorrow Aline is having hundreds, probably thousands, of Herondale Industries financial reports delivered to my apartment, and I have a day to go through them, plus catch up on all of this.”

“Will you tell me what's going on if I do help you?”

“I—what?” Jace said, he say up, leaning against his elbows. “Something's going on?”

“What's all of this,” Clary said, motioning at the mess he was in the middle of on the floor. “And why you bugged me when I talked to your dad, and who even is Aline?”

Jace looked mildly perplexed, as if it hadn't occurred to him that Clary would want to know what it all meant. “You're definitely not good for only a secretary. You ask too many questions. Good businesswoman, though,” he mused.

“Jace!” Clary said, exasperated.

“Yes,” Jace finally said. “I'll explain everything. But can we keep the questions to a minimum today? I seriously have to go through all of this. I promise I'll answer anything tomorrow.”

“Anything?” Clary pressed.

“Almost anything.”

“I won't go.”

“Anything,” Jace corrected himself, going back to work, then he paused and looked up at her, looking triumphant but still just a little bit distraught as she hugged her knees to her chest in his chair. “God, Clary, I'm sorry. You must have been so lost. I didn't mean to leave you in the dark like that, just . . . with everything. I got caught up in getting it done, and I forgot to take care of you.”

“Just a bit,” she said softly.

“A little bit more than just a bit,” Jace said. “But, tomorrow, okay? Can you be at my apartment at, say, nine?”

Clary looked him in the eyes and swallowed. “I don't remember where it is.”

“Right,” Jace said, thoughtful. “I do suppose we were a little distracted last time. I'll pick you up.”

“You don't know where I live.”

“See, I just might have listened the recording of your conversation with my father at some point?” Jace said. “So, I just might know where you live.”

“You're a creep,” Clary told him.

“Maybe, but you get to ride in my nice newly repaired car. I'll be there at nine or so.”

“I need to remember to buy another lock.”

“Hey, I didn't listen to it specifically to find out where you live. I just remembered because I was curious, and I haven't tried anything, and I won't try anything. I promise.”

Clary rose from his seat and went back to her work in response. A few minutes later, she said: “Just. . . don't knock. The doorbell doesn't work, and the people underneath me get really angry if you wake them up before eleven.”

Jace didn't look up, but she caught him smirking. “Got it.”

 


	37. The Clave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> feat. Body Say by Demi Lovato

So much for just lasting until the next work day was over. Now she had to spend the entire Saturday with Jace. So much for her goodbyes, her distancing, all of it. So much for her weekend break, too. In exchange for letting her have Saturday off to help Jace, Magnus made her come in early on Sunday to help decorate for the themed event he was going to host that night.

But she was going to get answers from Jace, and that would be worth it. Finally, someone was finally going to give her the information she was looking for.

When Jace came to pick her up, the first thing she noticed was his radio was playing _Body Say_ by Demi Lovato. “What happened to the Ariana Grande?” she asked.

“You laughed at me last time,” Jace said.

“I didn't laugh... that much. It was fine. It's okay.”

“Not in the car,” Jace said. “At my apartment.”

“Oh,” Clary said, suddenly solemn. “Sorry. I guess drunk Clary is pretty giggly.”

“Drunk Clary is adorable,” he told her. “But you did laugh.”

“Sorry, I don't remember.”

“What do you remember?” Jace asked, pulling into the driveway in front of his apartment building. Clary was quiet, blushing, and unsure how to reply. Jace looked awkward for a moment, then: “I might have lied about how drunk I was when I told you the next morning. You looked like you were beating yourself up, and I didn't want to make you feel any worse.”

“What do you mean?” Clary cheeks still felt heated, but she met his gaze.

“The only alcohol I had was the drink Isabelle brought us, the Demon's Fire, and another shot I ordered at the bar.” Jace paused, watching her reaction. She tried to keep herself steady. “I wasn't really drunk at all... I wanted to tell you at some point, Clary. Everything I did that night, I did on purpose, even though I have a feeling you can't say the same.”

Clary swallowed, taking that in. She felt frozen, like the blood in her veins had thickened, slowing her mind and movement. Here she was willing to drop it all and leave any trace of Jace behind until there was nothing left except work, and then he went and did or said something that turned all of that upside down.

They matched each others' gazes, Jace not willing to break away, and Clary not sure what to do. At the same moment that Jace began: “Clary—”

Clary said, “Well, we have work to do right? We better...”

A mild look passed over Jace's face. Disappointment? Sadness? Was he upset she didn't fall for his game this time? “You're right,” he said, and got out of the car and moved towards the building. Clary followed.

When they got into his apartment, the entryway in which Clary had first kissed him was covered in stacks of boxes. “Yeah,” Jace said, catching her gaze. “There's a lot of them. Sorry it's kind of a mess,” he commented, dropping his keys on the coffee table. “Do you, uhm, want to work or ask questions? Or do you want something to drink maybe?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, a habit Clary had realized boys picked up when they weren't sure what to do. She watched him for a moment, drinking in one of the few times she'd ever seen Jace feel awkward. “Let's start with the boxes, and if I think of things to ask while we go, I will.”

“Okay,” Jace said, and lifted the first from the top of the pile, moving over to the couches in the living room, each facing the coffee table. “We're looking for anything involving Clave transactions, so, well... I guess I should explain that first, at least, before you ask.” Jace got another box for himself, and Clary settled herself on the couch near the first.

“The Clave is an exclusive invite-only business club, so to speak. It doesn't really have a specific title beyond 'The Clave' because it's too far-reaching over different fields and ventures to be defined. Well, anyway. As far as I know, it started as a secret police to take down speakeasies in the 1900s, but even after prohibition was repealed, it had formed such a tight-knit group with far too expansive of a repertoire of connections to disband, so it stayed.

“In secret, it became a major player in the background of all sorts of things—major business dealings, protection for high-paying members, rulings in court cases, even governmental elections. It's kind of a big deal, but no one really knows about it.” Jace paused, giving her a half-smile. “You might be the first non-member and non-applicant to find out so much, when you read that letter.”

Clary blinked at him in surprise, but suddenly it made sense. “You didn't want me to know that you knew I read it? God, that sentence is so confusing.”

“I didn't want to freak you out, or Simon. I know you care for him,” Jace said. “Even if I don't. I'll be honest, I didn't want to know if I had been accepted or not. It didn't change anything for our plan, and I wanted nothing to do with the Clave. Really, I knew from the way my father acted that I'd been admitted, but hearing the words kind of struck me harder than I thought they would.”

“Why do you not like the Clave?” Clary asked, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees. She had said they were going to do work, but now she was too wrapped up in the explanations.

“I suspect they're corrupt, but we're not sure. That's why Aline is here: to investigate Herondale Industries, it's connection to the Clave, my father, and whether or not the Clave has been throwing their weight a little to much in the government, business sector, and foreign policy. Also, I don't like my father, so anything that likens me to him is enough to steer me clear away from it.”

“So Aline is like a... a secret agent?”

“Pretty much. Her name is Aline Blackthorn. She's an undercover member of the Clave, but an even more undercover member of the FBI. The Blackthorn family had been involved in the Clave for years, but they've never been particularly keen on its values and rules. They're the black sheep of sorts.”

“What about the Herondale family?” Clary asked, curiously.

“The prodigy child. Until me.” Jace shrugged. “My father isn't particularly pleased, but if we're lucky we can change that by the time this whole ordeal is over. He doesn't tend to like a lot of things I do anyway.”

“Why drag me into any of this?” She rubbed her temples before meeting Jace's gaze.

“I'm not sure, actually,” said Jace. “It was Aline's orders, and she'd kind of hard to argue with.”

“Did she order you to kiss me, too?” Clary felt heat on her cheeks again.

“No,” Jace said, smirking. “I wanted to. You don't quite get it yet that I'm into you, do you?”

“I thought that was your thing, with your secretaries.”

“Even if it was, Clary, anything with you would be better.”

Clary leaned back and hugged herself. “It's hard to trust you after everything you put me through.”

Jace leaned forward. “Clary,” he said sternly, surprising her into looking at him. “I'm sorry. I am. I'm trying to make it up to you. If you want time, then I can give you that.”

Clary swallowed and looked away. She turned to the boxes, gesturing at them. “So, looking for Clave things? Anything else?”

Jace let out a soft sigh, leaning back. “Anything involving large transfers, or many small transfers to the same thing, or anything involving big corporations or political groups, et cetera, et cetera.”

“Right,” Clary said, and started to sift through the reports. Jace watched her for a moment longer; she felt his gaze lingering over her skin, and then he too began working through the box before him.

 


	38. Preparations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> feat. Clary being a little shit and Magnus being a little shit and honestly let's be real Simon's the only decent human being in this entire thing

“I spent the entire day yesterday having my questions answered, and I still don't know what to do,” Clary told Magnus as she held the ladder for him. He was currently a good six feet above her, hanging swaths of flowing fabric from the ceiling. The theme for the night was a masquerade ball, and Magnus was attempting to make the bar feel ethereal moonlight night and fairy revel at the same time.

“Well, at least we know more about the Clave, right?” Magnus said, climbing down the ladder. He stood back and looked at his handiwork, arms on his hips, before deciding it was good. He picked up the ladder and moved it across the room, beginning to work on the entrance. “Still doesn't explain why I'm involved over here, though. Jace said he hadn't heard of Downworlder, right? And we're less secretive than the Clave, or so it sounds.”

“Yeah,” Clary said. “I don't know either. There must be something.”

“Maybe it's just kind of a faction thing,” Magnus mused. “Maybe it's just that the Clave hates Downworlders, and that's it.”

“You don't think there's more?” Clary asked.

“I dunno,” Magnus shrugged. “But it's possible there's only that. Though then I still don't know why Stephen Herondale agreed to work with me. If he knows so much, enough to hate the bar, why serve me so well? You're still right about something not making sense.”

“Be careful, Magnus,” Clary said.

“I am!” Magnus huffed, glaring down at her. “Hold the ladder better if you're so worried.”

“Oh,” Clary said, and tried to do a better job of holding him steady. “I meant about the business deal. Be careful about Stephen Herondale. We don't know what he has planned.”

“I will,” Magnus assured her. “Can you pass me those lights?”

Clary did as requested, and Magnus continued: “What are you going to do about Jace, though?”

She sighed. “I don't know. He seems apologetic, at least, about screwing with me this past week.”

“What about screwing you?”

“Not at all, but still none of your business.”

“Honey, it was my business as soon as you mentioned that hot bit of stuff.”

“Don't start,” Clary said, glaring at him. He paused in his work to wink at her. “Speaking of hot bits of stuff, when are you going to propose to Alec?”

Magnus nearly fell off the ladder. It was his turn to glare down at Clary's innocent smile. He let out a soft sigh. “I don't know. Besides, Isabelle is already getting married. Isn't one wedding in our group of friends enough for the year? I think I'll wait a bit, at least.” He froze for a moment, looking thoughtful. “You are right, though. I've been thinking about it. I'm not sure if Alec's ready.”

“Alec's completely head over heels for you,” Clary said. “Whatever happens, you two will be fine, I'm sure.”

“You're right. But we're comfortable here, and I don't want to ruin that, and I don't want to get in the way of Izzy's spotlight.”

“Suit yourself,” Clary said. “A double wedding might be pretty cool, though.”

“I am not conforming myself to Isabelle's color scheme, no way,” Magnus said.

“Has she picked anything out yet?” Clary asked.

“She'd been all over the place... Oh, right. You didn't know. While you were off with Jace yesterday, she kidnapped Simon and dragged him all over the city, going anywhere and everywhere that dealt with wedding planning. Poor boy. He might still be in shock, but Isabelle seemed to be pretty productive.”

Magnus got down, spun in a slow circle, looking around, and pronounced: “There. Now, tablecloths. And the walls. Clary, you're light, go climb on that booth and pin this on the wall,” Magnus ordered, handing her a large lightweight cloth, similar to the drapes he'd been putting on the ceiling and stringing with white Christmas lights.

As Clary was doing so, she heard Isabelle come in through the front door of the bar. When Clary was done, she turned and was surprised to see Simon in tow. He waved at her, and gave her a hug when she walked over.

“Soooo,” Isabelle purred when Clary approached. “How'd things go with Jace?”

“I got some answers about what's going on, but I still don't know what to about Jace, and, you know, him being Jace, that sort of thing,” she explained, and then added in response to Simon's confused expression: “Jace had me go over to his apartment to help with this like conspiracy theory thing, and really it's just a big mess that I don't want to explain. Again. Ask Magnus if you seriously wanna know. I'm about ready to not acknowledge the existence of anything Jace.”

“Did he kiss you again?” Izzy asked, and then, at Simon's stricken expression: “Oops. Well. Cat's out of the bag, I guess.”

Clary sent Isabelle a death glare. Izzy smiled innocently as she wandered over to the bar to get a drink. She sighed, exasperated. “No, nothing like that. He was quite the gentleman this time. He did tell me he wasn't drunk that... uhm, night.” Clary turned to Simon, realizing she'd said more than she meant, and attempted to gauge his reaction.

Izzy poked her head up from under the bar. “Wait, what? It wasn't a drunken act of passion?”

Clary winced visibly and rubbed her temples. “No. Not on his part. I don't know what to think.”

Simon was going from stricken to confused, to mildly suspicious of them, and Magnus proceeded to very helpfully supply: “Clary slept with Jace when we went to a club the Friday before last.”

Isabelle and Clary proceeded to shout at him in sync.

Simon blinked. “What?” He turned to Clary. “You didn't tell me?”

Clary spluttered. “Did you want me to?” she finally managed.

“It explains why you're so awkward around him,” Simon mused.

“I'm not awkward around him,” Clary said stubbornly, crossing her arms.

“Yeah, you are,” piped in Isabelle.

“You,” Clary said, pointing angrily at the other girl, who was now pouring herself a drink. “Shut up. You've gotten me in enough trouble.” She whirled and caught Magnus with his mouth open, about to speak. “You too! I'm never telling you guys about my love life ever again. I trusted you!”

Simon laughed. Clary turned back to him, concerned that she might have broken Simon, but he seemed fine. She saw a shadow pass over his eyes for a second, but then he flicked his gaze over to Isabelle, and Clary wished to God she could have raised an eyebrow at him. “Well,” Simon said, turning back to her. “What did I say? You're a girl, and Jace likes those.”

“Yeah,” Clary said, softly. “You were right.”

“Clary!” Magnus called from across the room. “Get that cute ass to work! That was the deal!”

“Right, right,” she said, and got to work decorating more. Simon went to bar next to Isabelle long enough for her to mix him a drink. By the time he finished, Izzy wandered into the back room to get their outfits ready, and Simon came over to help Clary.

And despite everything, she couldn't help but be happy. Things were starting to look up.

 


	39. Under a Mask

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> feat. Night Changes by One Direction
> 
> This is my favorite chapter.

Simon lingered for a little while after the bar opened, while still not very busy. He stayed long enough to steal a dance from each Isabelle and Clary in her disguise. He had been rather complimentary of the two of them—each dressed in ball gowns, fitted with corset and flared skirt, and masks—but after he grabbed one last drink at the bar, he took off for the night.

Jordan appeared sometime while things were just starting into fall into place, dressed in a handsome tux, complete with a dark gray mask styled to mimic a wolf. Isabelle and Clary were complementary, with Izzy in all her essence of a dark queen in her black and purple dress and crow mask, and Clary in a gold and white gown and the mask of a white cat.

Most of the tables had been moved out of the way, and a couple were stuffed into the back to make more room for the dance floor. Magnus proved it was ample space by preforming a intense tango with Jordan once they'd got the room cleared enough. After, Magnus had announced: “That was ridiculously fun. I'm making Alec take dancing lessons, now.”

They laughed, and Clary danced the night away with strangers, and yet she herself was a stranger—hidden behind her mask, and dressed in Avery's style, and the world spun with fairy lights and the billowing dancing cloth on the ceiling and on her dress.

And then, as if the magic of the night inevitably brought him there, Jace appeared.

By his side was Kaelie.

Clary managed to not freeze in her tracks as she danced with a guest, but her gaze lingered on the two of them as they made their way to a booth. Clary excused herself at the end of the song, and made her way over to where Magnus was at the bar.

“What's Jace doing here?” Magnus asked, as Clary got herself a drink of water.

“I don't know,” she said, glancing over at him. “And he's with his former secretary?”

“The one that hates you?”

“Yeah, I think? I really don't know what happened.” Clary sighed. “I don't know if I want him to come dance with me or not.” On one hand, if he came to dance with her, she risked revealing herself, that meant he probably wasn't here exclusively with Kaelie. Then again, Jace was never exclusive.

Magnus patted Clary's shoulder comfortingly as she finished her water. She slipped back into the dancers, and found Jordan, whose eyes lit up when he saw her. He bowed low and held out his hand to her dramatically. Clary rolled her eyes at him and took it, and Jordan swung her into the beat of the song and the circle of his arms, and Clary found herself forgetting Jace in the silliness of it all.

Jordan spun Clary out just as the song ended, and as she turned back to him, suddenly he was gone. Clary was met, instead, by Jace's amber eyes, and the first beats of _Night Changes_ by One Direction began.

His gaze met hers, and suddenly Clary felt bare before him, as if the mask and the disguise and everything was gone. “May I have this dance?” Jace asked.

Clary recovered some of her composure. He didn't know. He couldn't. “Of course,” she said, and took his hand.

Her heart raced as Jace held her, and she was hyperaware of the pressure of his hand in her own and against her waist. He remained a respectable distance away from her, nothing compared to the ridiculous, flirtatious boy she'd come to know as her boss, and perhaps friend (she still wasn't sure), and thought that maybe it wouldn't be too bad to fall in love with this elegant beautiful Jace.

He spun her, holding her out by the right hand, and she felt a smile form on her lips at the thrill of it all, and when she came back to him, she found him watching her, a half-smile on his face. Staring back, she realized one of his front teeth were chipped: something she hadn't noticed before.

“You're very pretty tonight, Avery,” Jace said, and the sound of her alias in his low voice sent Clary crashing back into reality. To Jace, he barely knew this girl as more than name on stage, and yet still he was playing his moves.

Though they were very different moves than he played on her...

“Thank you,” she said, and managed a smile as the song ended and they broke apart. Jace returned to his table, and Clary was left dazed on the dancefloor. She fled to Isabelle, who brushed off a patron in order to dance with Clary for the next song, and with Izzy leading her, Clary's heart felt much safer.

But it never fluttered dancing with anyone else like it did with Jace.

 


	40. Mixed Messages

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> feat. 3AM by Meghan Trainor

Jace's office was once again pristine when Clary entered it the next morning, but it was also very devoid of Jace. He left her a sticky note on her desk that said: “Will be back for lunch together, my treat. Papers on desk need typing out. Thanks.”

Clary did as requested on the sticky note, but not before sending Jace a text that said: “You do realize phones are a thing, right? You don't have to leave me sticky notes all the time.” Exactly four typed pages later, he replied back with nothing more than a winky face.

Clary scowled at it on her screen for a bit, and then went back to work. She finished quickly, with plenty of time to spare before lunch, so she went to grab herself a cup of coffee and then proceeded to play solitaire for the next couple of hours.

When noon came around, Clary packed her things away, and waited.

She waited.

She waited and Jace never came. Twenty minutes past twelve, she texted him, “Still on for lunch?”

She waited ten minutes more, and he didn't reply. At twelve thirty, she decided it wasn't worth waiting any longer for Jace and went down to the sixth floor to grab some food. The kitchen was vacant as she bought a bag of trail mix from the vending machine, and stole an apple from the community basket on the counter. On her way out, she ran into Simon and Maia.

“Oh, hi Clary,” Maia said. “Wow, you look like your puppy just died. What happened?”

Simon looked concerned. “Clary?”

“Nothing big,” Clary said. “Just some . . . boy issues, I guess.”

Maia chuckled sadly, and gave her a side-hug. Simon continued to look concerned. He raised an eyebrow at her, and she shook her head at him. “I'll tell you later, Simon. And thanks, Maia, but it's really not a big deal.”

“Hey,” Maia said, changing the topic. “Is Magnus going to need Jordan anytime this week?”

“I don't think so,” Clary said. “Maybe tonight, but that's it.”

“Okay, cool. I wanted to steal him to get some help on a project,” Maia said, and then to Simon's somewhat puzzled expression: “Does Simon know what's going on?”

“He should,” Clary said, looking puzzled in turn.

Simon shook his head. “I think I do. I was just thinking... Were you the one who sicced Jordan on me the other night when I went out drinking?”

Clary laughed. “Yeah, yeah Isabelle and I did.”

“Everything suddenly makes a lot more sense, now.”

“Well,” Maia said. “Now that all of that is cleared up, Simon, we getting grab something an go. That sign isn't going to design itself.”

“Right,” Simon said, and gave Clary a hug in goodbye. “Call me later?”

“Sure,” Clary said. She had the night off at the bar, and would be free to be a vegetable in her apartment pining over Jace and watching bad reality TV, but talking to Simon sounded to be the far better option.

“Bye, Clary,” Maia said, and the two of them slipped past her, into the kitchen.

As Clary nibbled on her apple, she made her way to the main reception on the first floor. Approaching Camille, she asked, “Did Jace leave anything for me to do?”

“Oh,” Camille said, looking thoughtful. “He didn't give me anything specifically. He left with Kaelie earlier today, but he did mention something about some boxes being in the meeting room for you to go through?”

“Oh,” Clary said, suddenly far more dejected than she already had been. “Thanks, Camille.”

“No problem.”

Clary made her way back up to Jace's floor, pondering over what she was supposed to feel now. She seemed to be always asking herself that question around him. She had jumped to conclusions about Aline, and she didn't want to do it again, but something about it still made her feel down. Sure it was kind of irrational—the last time Jace spoke to Kaelie, well, that she knew of, he yelled at her to leave—but still the heartache got to her. It was clear Kaelie was into him, what if he finally returned her affection?

Clary sighed, let herself into the meeting room, and began sorting one of the four boxes of financial records they hadn't gotten to on Saturday. She played Meghan Trainor's _3 A.M._ on loop as she worked, because the song gave her some emotional validation, and she couldn't help but wallow a little.

It would have been nice to have the song interrupted by a text tone. But Jace never replied back. At the end of the day, she let herself out of his office and made her way home.

 


	41. An Unexpected Visitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> feat. La La by the Cab

Snuggled on her couch in the dark and watching Disney movies was how Simon found Clary when he called her later that day. Clary paused her movie and snuggled deeper into her blanket cocoon as she talked to Simon.

“So what happened with Jace? Well, I'm assuming it's Jace.”

“Wait,” Clary said, listening closely. “Is that Jordan singing?” she could vaguely hear in the background over the line _La La_ by The Cab playing.

“Yeah, I'm at Magnus's because Magnus opened up the bar for poetry tonight after the singing performances, and we have a friend who writes—” he lowered his voice as if he didn't want to be heard. “—really, _really_ bad poetry, but no one has the heart to tell him. I'm not sure if Magnus is ever going to do another poetry night after this.”

Clary laughed. “Anyone else we know there?”

“You mean, like Jace? No. But Sebastian is here, even though Isabelle took off. I think he's with a classmate.”

“Oh,” Clary said. She wasn't sure if she was disappointed or not. If Jace was there, Simon could keep an eye on him, but if he wasn't there, maybe he was at home. Then again, maybe he was at home with Kaelie.

She let out a sigh. “Jace stood me up today, and then Camille said he went out with Kaelie,” she explained. “Oh, and I had seen him at the bar yesterday with her, though he did come and dance with me—well, Avery. Whatever. I dunno if he was specifically with her yesterday, but I don't really know anymore.” Clary groaned. “Can I just shoot myself and be done with it all?”

“Better yet, shoot Jace,” Simon suggested.

“Ha, the bullets would probably bounce off.” Clary thought she heard something and put the phone down for a moment, her eyes flickering over to the door. “Hold on, Simon,” she whispered, “I think someone's trying to break in. Or my downstairs neighbors are drunk again and think this is their apartment.”

Phone in one had, Clary scrambled out of her mess of blankets (a challenge, but doable), and bolted into the kitchen, grabbing a frying pan for protection. She went to the door and tiptoed to the door, the lock on which was making noise as if someone was struggling with it. Just as she peered through the peephole, the door swung open and she screamed, falling backwards.

The lights flared on, and she heard Simon yelling into the phone: “Clary? Clary! Are you okay? Clary!”

“Clary,” said the person as her eyes adjusted to the brightness. “What are you doing on the floor? Why do you have a frying pan?”

“Mom!” Clary screeched. “What? What are you doing here?” She was beginning to recover from the shock, and spoke into the phone to Simon: “It's fine, Simon, it was just my mom.” Clary rose and dusted herself off, setting the frying pan on the side table.

“What?” Simon said.

“Your landlord gave me a spare key,” Jocelyn Fairchild said.

“My landlord is a turd,” Clary said in response.

Simon laughed. Her mom looked displeased. “Clary,” she scolded. “That's no way to talk about someone.”

“You nearly gave me a heart attack!” Clary protested. Then, to Simon: “Simon, how about I call you back?”

“Who's Simon?” her mom asked.

“A friend,” Clary told her.

“Is he cute?” Jocelyn waggled her eyebrows at Clary suggestively.

“Tell her yes,” Simon said. “If she's hot. Is your mom hot?”

“Simon!” Clary scowled at the phone. “We'll talk later,” she said decisively, and cut off Simon's laughter as she hung up the phone.

“Okay, seriously, Mom,” Clary said. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to visit my baby girl!” Jocelyn said, cheerfully.

Clary glared at her. “With no warning? You plan everything.”

“Okay, okay... I'm here on business,” she admitted.

“You're an artist, Mom. You came all this way to paint?”

“Clary,” Jocelyn said. “You really think I've been just sitting around _drawing_ after you left to start your own life?” She drew herself up, looking every bit the imposing police officer Jocelyn Fairchild must have once been. She also might have had a bit of the flare for the dramatic. “No, I went back to the work I did before your father left me and went to Switzerland.”

“You're back on the force? Why are you here?”

Jocelyn waved her off. “No, no. Better. I'm with the FBI. We're here investigating Herondale Industries. Which I hear from Aline you've got yourself quite wrapped up in.”

“That was you!” Clary exclaimed, loudly. “I heard you on the phone the other day, when I was talking to Aline.”

“Yes it was,” Jocelyn said patiently. She sat on Clary's couch and patted on the cushion for Clary to join her, which she did. “I'm heading the investigation on the Clave, seeing as... Well, seeing as I was once a member, they figured I would be most informed on the Clave's inner workings. But we had to bring in Aline because I'm far too well known as a traitor.”

“A traitor? What?”

“Valentine tried to lead a coup to break away from the Clave, years ago. It's part of the reason he left for Switzerland, after it failed. But the Morgenstern family was left with a black mark on their record in the Clave, after that. They might think of you as a traitor as well, but I don't think they ever knew I was pregnant with you. You might be fine as long as they don't know you as Valentine's daughter.”

“Mom,” Clary said. “What is going on. We have some sort of family heritage thing? What?”

“The Clave puts a high importance on honor. Though the bloodlines has frayed and faded, the Clave symbol still remains from the three founding families: the Herondales, the Blackthorns, and the Morgensterns. If you've ever seen it, it's a design of Herons, surrounded by thorned vines, with a background of falling stars.”

“It's carved into Stephen Herondale's office doors,” Clary realized. “That's what it was? The Clave symbol?”

“Yes, as far as I know. I've never been in the building. I've mostly crashed at... Well, you remember Luke? He has a nice Downworlder affiliated Chinese bar and grill he's in charge of, and that's been our base of operations pretty much. But I wanted to sleep in a decent bed for once, somewhere that didn't smell like eggrolls.” Jocelyn mused. “So, uh, can I sleep on the couch tonight?”

Clary sighed. “You can have my bed,” she said. “But I'm not making you breakfast. I have to be at work tomorrow, and... oh, God, Jace,” Clary groaned. “I still don't know what to do.”

“Jace? Stephen Herondale's son, right?” Jocelyn asked.

Clary nodded. “We might have had some... issues. As in, we kind of had a thing, and then we didn't have a thing, and then he went out with his secretary last night, and today he stood me up to go out with her, and I don't know what's going on?”

“You wouldn't happen to be talking about Kaelie, would you?”

Clary rubbed her eyes tiredly. “Yeah. How do you know her?”

“Because I ordered him to talk with her. Kaelie has many Downworlder connections, being a longstanding Downworlder member, herself. We needed someone who was trusted in order to get information—not all Downworlders like the FBI—and there was an unexpected meeting today that I sent her, Jace, and Aline to. I'm... I'm sorry, Clary. I didn't realize.”

Clary laughed, slightly hysterical. “I can't believe there is a perfectly reasonable explanation defending Jace's character, and I even more so can't believe that that reasonable explanation is coming from my mom. Oh, boy. You know what? I don't care anymore. Jace can go to hell, whatever. I'm going to call Simon back, finish watching _Aladdin_ , and then go to bed.”

Jocleyn looked apologetic, but slightly amused at the same time. “I'm sorry, Clary. Thanks for letting me stay.” She gave her daughter a tight hug. “Relax, and call your cute friend, and don't worry about it. We've put a lot of pressure on you recently, some of it unintentional, when it really isn't your problem. Goodnight, baby.”

“I'm not a baby,” Clary grumbled, snuggling back into her blankets. “And turn the lights off!”

“You're my baby,” Jocelyn said, and kissed the top of Clary's head, before Clary could swat her away. She flicked off the lights as she made her way into the bedroom.

 


	42. Reconciliations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> feat. I'm so sorry Simon

“Clary,” Jace was saying, “I'm sorry, I—”

“Uh-uh,” Clary interrupted him. “I don't want to hear it.”

“But, Clary—” he continued, continuing the barrage he'd begun as soon as she'd walked in his officer door.

“Nope,” she said, as she put her stuff on her desk. “I already heard it from my mom.” She looked at him pointedly. “But would it have killed you to text back, you know, sometime yesterday at all?”

“I prefer apologizing in person—” Jace started saying, and then did a double take. “—Wait, what? Your mom?”

“Apparently my mom is the leader of your little Clave conspiracy investigation thing,” Clary said, pinching the bridge of her nose as she leaned against her desk. It all seemed so frivolous, now.

She heard Jace shift, and suddenly when she looked up he was standing in front of her. If she was standing straight rather than leaning back, they'd be toe-to-toe.

“Clary,” he said, and something about the sincerity in his voice made her look up. When she met his eyes, there was something just a little bit broken in his gaze—a hint of the fragile boy she'd found a glimpse of the night they danced. She suddenly felt engulfed by him, a drop of Clary in a sea of Jace. “I'm sorry,” he said, and he took the hand that lingered near her face still, holding it gently.

Clary watched him as he searched her gaze, waiting for an answer. He looked like glass, and she absently wondered if it were beautiful, breakable things like Jace that inspired her mother to paint. Finally, she shook her head, squeezing his hand in return. “You don't know how to be nice to girls, do you, Jace?”

Jace must have been caught off guard by that response, and Clary took pride in it. He seemed to be surprised into a laugh. “No,” he said. “No, I don't.” He lifted her hand in his and kissed the back of it. “You're really the first girl that I've wanted to be nice to, and then I went and kept screwing things up. Can I make it up to you?”

“How?” Clary said, eying him suspiciously.

“Anything you want,” Jace said, and she was expecting him to make the answer suggestive by adding some offhand comment or leaning in, but he left it at that. She was just the tiniest bit proud of him and maybe also the tiniest bit disappointed.

Her heart told her: _dance with me,_ _show me the boy who danced with Avery, the flaws and the confidence and the beauty all at once._ But she couldn't say that, so half-joking and half-hopeful, Clary answered: “A day off would be nice.”

“Done,” Jace said. “Where do you want to go?”

“What? Seriously? ...Go?”

“Yes. I'm taking you anywhere you want. My treat,” Jace said. And then normal Jace returned, and he leaned in, dropping her hand and leaning on the desk, trapping her in his arms. “We could even go, say, back to my place.”

“I was thinking more along the lines of Netflix and _not_ chill.”

“I da—”

 _I dare you,_ Jace was about to finish.

Clary stood and kissed him. He gasped against her mouth. He was not getting her with that, and she was not about to let him.

The desiring and sultry Jace disappeared, replaced by a lost puppy, and he was lapping her up. His arms went around her waist, and he held her, firm and warm and close, and Clary realized that, God forbid, Jace had actually missed her.

The kisses were hot but slow, and Clary savored them, memorizing the shape of Jace's mouth and the soft of his lips. At some point, Clary's arms had snaked their way around Jace's neck, and he had managed to undo her bun, letting her hair tumble down her back, and was running his hands through it. The world slowed, and it was just her and Jace (and the occasional buzz of Clary's phone, which they both ignored).

They broke away, breathless despite the lethargy of their kisses, and Jace buried his head in the crook of her neck. He spoke softly, and his breath tickled against her skin: “I wasn't lying when I said you were amazing.”

“You never said I was amazing,” Clary told him, absently running her hands though his hair and marveling at the softness of it.

“Didn't I?” Jace said to her neck. “Well, you are.”

“Thanks, I think,” Clary said, and Jace moved up to kiss her again, a hand pressed to her cheek. She leaned into his touch as he watched her.

It was at that moment Clary realized how much she had fallen for him, despite all the confusion and pain.

It was also at that moment that Simon opened Jace's office door, saying, “Clary? You didn't ans—Oh, oh God.”

Jace jumped away, looking awkward but still rather pleased with himself.

“Simon—” Clary spluttered, and managed in the most awkward way possible: “We, uhm, were doing work.”

“I'm a piece of work,” Jace said helpfully, “She was doing me.”

“Jace!” Clary screeched, mortified.

“Again?” said Simon, and Clary whirled on him.

“Simon!” She sounded equally mortified, if not more so. Jace raised an eyebrow at her questioningly, and she groaned. “What did you need Simon?”

“I'd texted you that I brought you breakfast, and when you didn't answer, I got worried. But, well, obviously you were busy snacking on something else,” Simon said.

“I _am_ very tasty,” Jace agreed.

“Shut up, you,” Clary glared at him. “You've gotten us in enough trouble. No, actually, you've gotten _me_ in enough trouble.” Turning to Simon: “Thanks Simon, but I think Jace owes me IHOP.”

“Do I?” Jace said. “Okay then.” He grabbed his keys off his desk.

Simon looked puzzled, but shrugged and said, “Alright. I take it Jace is for lunch too?”

Clary made a noise akin to growling at him, and he ducked out of the doorway, laughing, before she could throw something at him.

 


	43. A Dark Past, Hidden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> feat. Into You by Ariana Grande

A hearty dose of pancakes and a probably unhealthy amount of syrup later, Clary was mostly appeased, and Jace asked, “So, what next?”

“I'm still interested in netflix...” Clary said absently. “One sec,” she added, pausing to read a text from Simon that said: _I forgot to give you something from Magnus. I'll drop it by later?_

Clary texted him her address, to which Simon replied, _I'll knock this time._

Jace caught her blush as she tucked her phone in her purse. “What's up?”

“Nothing,” Clary said, and she saw the mischievous glint in his eyes and barreled on before he could poke fun at her. “Just my other boyfriend. Anyway, since I've been working at Herondale Industries, I haven't been able to keep up with _Supernatural_.”

“Wait a minute,” Jace said, and his gaze on her was wide and hopeful. “You said 'other boyfriend.' Does that mean I'm one of them?”

Clary froze, caught in the play of Jace's words, and the play of her own. Did she dare let him have that? And let it go to his head? No, she wanted him to put in more effort than that. Besides, dating Jace would make things more dangerous than they already were, with her working for Magnus.

Though at this point, Jace was obviously against the Clave, and the enemy of her enemy was her friend, right? God, here was getting dragged into the politics again, and she didn't particularly want any more politics in her love life than there usually were.

“Maybe if you behave,” she finally said, and rose to leave. “We'll see.”

She couldn't deny the butterflies dancing in her chest as a look of unbridled joy passed over Jace's countenance. He followed her, and they made their way out into the car. The drive to Clary's apartment was quiet until Clary commented. “You know you can play Ariana Grande if you want.”

Jace sent her a sideways glance. “Are you going to laugh at me?”

“I promise I won't.”

He looked at her warily, but turned on the radio, and _Into You_ began playing. At one point, Jace must have forgotten she was there because he started singing along.

“I didn't know you could sing,” Clary told him, and the deja vu hit.

“As Isabelle says, 'everyone can sing,'” he said, but she saw the tinge of blush on his face.

“Oh my God,” Clary said. “Are you shy about singing?”

Jace cleared his throat awkwardly. “I wouldn't say shy...” he murmured. “I guess, yeah,” he finally conceded. “I think it's more like stagefright? Except literally anyone being around me is a stage.”

Clary opened her mouth to speak, but caught herself before the words _It's okay, I have stagefright too,_ got out because that sort of answer would raise far too many questions. Instead, she said, “But you're so confident in front of, well, anyone.”

“But I don't sing in front of everyone,” Jace said, and then muttered something else. Clary could have sworn he said _not like you_.

“Well, you have a nice voice,” Clary said reassuringly.

“So do you,” Jace said. “Does good behavior get me a personal performance?”

“No,” Clary said immediately. Too risky.

“Come on,” Jace prodded as he parked.

He was still bothering her about it by the time they got to her apartment and she let herself in. “Sorry it's a mess. I'm not OCD about organizing like you.”

“I'm not OCD,” Jace protested.

“Clary?” came a call from the kitchen.

“Oh, God,” Clary said. “Mom? Why are you still here?”

Jocelyn Fairchild poked her head around the kitchen doorway. “Because Luke's place still smells like Chinese....” Shetrailed off into a whisper, looking at Jace. “You look just like him,” she murmured.

Jace looked puzzled. “Is this your FBI mom?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Clary sighed, dropping her keys on the side table and retrieving the frying pan from the night before. “Who looks just like who?” she asked as she put the weapon away. Calling back to Jace, she added: “Make yourself at home.”

“If I made myself at home, I'd reorganize everything, and I don't think you want that,” Jace called back.

“Jace,” Jocelyn finally answered.

To which Jace instantly responded: “What?”

She shook her head as Clary slipped past and joined Jace on the couch, where he'd flopped. Jocelyn continued, “You look just like Stephen, many, many years ago.”

Jace looked displeased. Clary saw his jaw flex. “I'm not him,” he finally said.

“I'm sure you're not,” Jocelyn said, leaning against the kitchen doorway. “You have only ever been who you made yourself to be, no one else.” Then, after a pause: “He wasn't always so... terrible, I suppose is a good word.”

“I never knew him as anything but,” Jace said, and Clary thought she saw a look of pain flash through his amber eyes, clouding their shine. In a heartbeat, it was gone again.

“I know,” Jocelyn said sadly. “I'm sorry, Jace. You deserved better. You still deserve better. We're working on it. He'll get what he deserves.”

Clary started softly, “What... happened?”

Jocelyn glanced over at Clary, and then looked at Jace. “You're my daughter,” she said, “But I can't tell you everything, and it's not my place to say. I'm going to go back to Luke's and check on how Aline is doing with those phone records.” Jocelyn grabbed her keys off the kitchen counter and let herself out.

Clary watched Jace. He was tense, but as she watched him, he saw his muscles relax some. “ ...Jace?” Her voice was tentative, careful.

“I...” Jace started, and she saw the muscle in haw tense once more. “I'll tell you soon, but I can't right now. It's not... a secret,” he said softly. “I just... It's hard.”

“It's okay,” she said. “Whatever it is, I'm sorry.”

“It's not your fault,” he said.

“But I can't make it better.”

“You already have though,” Jace said, and he turned to her, and she saw the cracks in his golden glass eyes. For the first time, she recognized that though she loved the fragility of him, something must have caused that brokenness, and suddenly, it hurt to watch the beauty of him.

Clary moved over to him and kissed his cheek, gentle, caring. Jace's lips twitched up into a smile. “See?” he said, and put his arm around her. Clary let herself mold to the curve of his side, and he kissed the top of her head, lips lingering.

“Well,” he finally said. “You wanted to watch _Supernatural,_ right?”

Clary nodded, and together they spent the day in each others' arms.

And through it all, Clary thought, _this is worth it._

 


	44. Peace Offerings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> feat. I'm Yours by Alessia Cara

“Sorry I didn't make it yesterday,” Simon said at lunch, sitting on the other side of Clary's desk. “I was helping Maia for a while, and then Izzy called about wedding stuff and we just got caught up talking.”

“It's fine,” Clary said. “Jace stayed a while anyway. I got lucky Magnus closed the bar last night so I didn't have to find an excuse to kick him out.”

“Soooo,” Simon purred. “You and him?”

“Not... exclusively,” she said. “I don't know. I mean, we did couple things yesterday, but I kind of want to start over and do things, you know, the way normal people do. We did everything backwards. But regardless of that, there's still the bar, and then there's stuff about the Clave he's not telling me yet? And I'm just not sure if dating him is a particularly good idea.”

“Huh,” Simon said helpfully, though he looked thoughtful. “Oh, anyway, here.” He pulled a couple of papers the size of postcards out of his back pocket, slightly rumpled from sitting on them. “Fliers Magnus wanted me to give you. I think the other one is for Jace.”

Clary took one and inspected it: purple with way too much glitter and proclaiming Magnus was having a party that Friday. “Oh, God,” she said.

“What?”

“Magnus Bane parties are kind of famous. And Magnus hasn't had one in forever. There's going to be a million people trying to get in, even if they weren't invited,” Clary explained, then mused, “I wonder what it's for this time. It's not the Chairman, that's in June... I dunno.”

“The Chairman?” Simon echoed.

“His cat. He throws a party for his cat each year.”

“I... what? Okay. Sure then,” Simon managed, shrugging.

Jace let himself into his office, then, whistling _I'm Yours_ by Alessia Cara. “Oh,” he said when he saw Simon. “Is this your other boyfriend?”

“Jace!” Clary growled.

“No,” said Simon. “The last time we considered that option, I almost got punched in the face.”

“What do you mean _you_ almost got punched? That's your concern? You punched Sebastian!” Clary huffed.

“What?” Simon said, and paled. “ _That_ was Sebastian? Izzy's Sebastian?”

“Yes! Who else would go along with our ridiculous plans?” she grumbled.

“Oh, God. Does he know I've been helping Izzy with the wedding stuff? Am I going to wake up with a knife to my throat? Should I start carrying pepper spray?”

Jace looked between them, confused. “I don't know what's going on?” he said, “But I brought I peace offering.” He dropped a paper bag on Clary's desk. “I had to stop by _The Sparkling Glass_ and there's a little bakery down the street that makes really great cookies.”

Clary opened Jace's peace offering, and indeed there were cookies in the bag. She took one and nibbled, then offered one to Simon.

“Well,” Jace said, “That seemed to be more effective than I thought it would be, seeing as you both quit talking.”

“Go away,” Clary growled around a mouthful of cookie.

“You're welcome,” said Jace.

“Thanks. Now go away.”

“You don't mean that. You love me.”

Clary made a dubious sound. “You do bring me cookies.”

“I do bring you cookies,” he agreed. “And get you breakfast.”

“Hey,” Clary argued. “I made us lunch.”

“Actually, I believe your mom made lunch, and you just reheated it.”

Clary waved a hand dismissively at him. “Technicalities.”

Somewhere during their conversation, Simon slipped out the door, apparently sensing the sexual tension in Jace and Clary's banter and deciding it was better to not be in the room when one of them snapped.

“Simon left you a flier,” Clary said, waving the extra at Jace. He walked over and took it.

“What's this?” he pondered, and Clary shrugged, licking the cookie crumbs from her fingertips. “You going?” She nodded as he watched her. She saw his eyes darken.

Jace leaned down and kissed the sweetness from her lips.

Clary glared at him when he pulled away, and he smirked, devilish and perfect.

“Okay, so we actually have to get some stuff done today, I think,” Jace said. “Unless you have other plans.”

Clary shook her head, not quite trusting her voice.

They set to work, and fell into the swing of things again. At some point during the rest of the day, Clary got a text from Simon that said: _I think you make Jace happier. I'm pretty sure if he ever caught me in his office before, he'd yell at me._ Clary laughed, and treasured the thought.

 


	45. Demon's Fire, Warlock's Desire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> feat. Here by Alessia Cara and You're Such A by Hailee Steinfield

The week passed, and Clary for the first time since she started working for Herondale Industries was a mix of undeniably comfortable and happy. She was greeted each morning by Jace and his kisses, and had lunch with Simon most days, and went home and worked at the bar, enjoying the songs and stories and the friends.

And when Friday rolled around, the lights were dim in Magnus's apartment. He'd redecorated over the week, filled the rooms with streamers of all colors and balloons filled with glitter were literally _everywhere._ It was crowded, but much less so than Clary had feared. Jordan was currently at the bar mixing drinks for a few people, but Clary figured it was overall more of a self-serve sort of thing.

Simon awkwardly hovered at her shoulder as _Here_ by Alessia Cara played. Clary tugged him over to the bar, swerving between various groups of chatter and the occasional dancers. At one point Simon made a displeased squeaking noise and hissed: “Something just ran past my leg.”

Clary waved him off as she got to the bar. “It was just Chairman Meow, don't worry.”

“Is the Chairman the size of a rat?”

Clary looked museful. “Just about, yeah.”

Simon didn't look particularly comforted.

“Shove over, Jordan,” Clary said, nudging him over. “There's something I gotta try, and if it works, you have to do it with me, okay?”

Jordan looked dubious. “It's not laced with anything is it?”

Clary looked at him pointedly, then back to her phone, where she had found a recipe of something akin to the Demon's Fire from Pandemonium. “Only alcohol. You won't pass out of die or anything, I promise. Hand me that.”

Jordan complied, and then Clary said: “Do you have a lighter with you?”

“Is this what I think it is,” Jordan said as he dug through his pockets and found his lighter. “It is, isn't it?” he continued as Clary lit the tip of a straw on fire and used it to light the shot.

“Damn straight,” she said triumphantly. She grabbed a new straw and dispatched the shot quickly. It was a lot less scary drinking a flaming shot for the second time.

“That is terrifying,” said Simon. Jordan looked a mixture of amazed and horrified.

“It's not that bad,” Clary said. “Now Jace and I are two-for-two.”

“I saw something on fire over here; is everyone alive?” Magnus said, approaching with an electric blue drink in one hand and Alec in the other. “If you're going to die, die outside of my apartment. I don't want to deal with the mess.”

“No one's dead,” said Jordan. “Yet.”

“Your turn,” Clary told him.

“If I die, Magnus is going to make you clean up my body.”

“You won't die,” Clary said, as she served a shot for Jordan and handed him a straw, telling him how to drink it. He looked mildly concerned the entire time, but Magnus was at least somewhat amused. Alec and Simon had similar expressions of terror.

With a deep breath, Jordan drank the shot, and everyone cheered.

Jordan shook his head. “I'm never doing that again.”

“I'm impressed,” said Magnus. “You're going to have to teach Isabelle so we can start serving those at the bar.”

“It's not that hard,” Clary said. “Honestly I think it's harder to drink than to mix.”

“What is?” came the sound of Jace's voice.

Alec jumped and let out a squeal, spooked by the sudden appearance of Jace. Jace, in turn, looked at Alec, concerned. Magnus looked generally displeased for a moment, before, “Well, Clary, why don't you serve us? I think we need to toast to Jace. After all, he's the reason I'm having this party.”

“I am?” he asked, looking puzzled. “Please, do tell.”

“I'm celebrating the official beginning of renovations to the bar. Clary, shots. Jordan, go see if you can find Izzy and Maia.”

“On it,” Jordan said, and Clary began pouring everyone drinks. By the time she was done, Isabelle and Maia had shown up and Jordan returned.

Eight collective shots and a “To Jace and _The Sparkling Glass_!” later, Jace's arm had somehow snaked its way around Clary's waist, and Hailee Steinfield's _You're Such A_ began playing.

“Simon,” Isabelle said, linking her arm to his, then abandoning him to mix herself some sort of fruity-looking drink. “You're going to be my responsible drinking buddy today because I was supposed to bring Seb, but he had a project due tomorrow. Not that Seb's ever responsible at drinking, so this is probably a better idea anyway.”

Then, linking her arm with his again, Izzy began tugging him back into the crowd. “Well,” Simon said, resigned, as he was dragged away. “Bye, Clary. I'll call you from whatever depths of hell I find myself in tomorrow. Mount Doom, maybe.”

Clary laughed, and Isabelle swatted at him before they disappeared in the mass of people. Turning to Jace, she found him and Alec doing their silent eye contact secret-friendship-conservation thing again, and she made a huffing noise. “God gave you guys mouths so you could speak to each other.”

“But it's so much cooler if we don't talk,” Jace said, breaking his gaze away from Alec's for a moment to glance at her.

“Besides,” said Magnus, drawing Alec closer to him. “I can think of much better things Alec can do with his mouth besides speaking.”

Alec made a _meep_ sound and blushed, but turned serious when he spoke. “Clary's right. Jace, we should discuss... things.” Jace nodded, keeping to his supposedly cool and stoic demeanor and followed Alec out of the room, presumably to Magnus's room (which was usually off limits during parties).

Magnus sidled up next to Clary. Jordan and Maia had wandered off at some point, so they were the only ones left at the bar. “It's not official,” Magnus said, “But I'm also kind of having this party to reward myself.” He met her gaze. “I'm going to do it.”

Clary blinked at him. “Do what?”

“Propose.”

Clary's hand flew to her mouth as she gasped, and then squealed loudly. “Oh my God!”

“Shh!” Magnus hissed, and Clary stilled her voice and tried to still her excitement. “I haven't worked things out yet, and I'm probably going to wait a while. Let Izzy have her fame. But I'm... trying to plan it. And I might need your help.”

“Of course,” Clary said instantly. “Anything. You know you two are my OTP.”

Magnus rolled his eyes at her, but he was smiling. “Whatever. But thanks. I just hope Alec likes what I have planned. Now,” he added, gesturing at the bar. “Teach me how to do those flaming shots.”

 


	46. A Dark Past, Unhidden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> feat. sorry magnus but you probably don't want this couch anymore

The next day, Clary slipped through the alleyway next to Magnus's bar to get into the back, seeing as the front entrance was being torn up by workers. Isabelle was going to come by later to help pack up all of their clothes and such, but Clary figured at the moment, Izzy was sleeping off her hangover.

She let herself into the dressing room, and promptly bumped into someone. “What the—”

“Hi, Clary,” the person said, and she found herself steadied by Jace's arms.

“Jace—” she spluttered, scrambling for an excuse. Fear shot down her spine, arcing out along her limbs. Oh no. Nonono.

“You know,” he said, somewhat coolly. “I was just about to call you to come over here and check out how things were going, but you seem to have that covered already.”

“I... I... uhm,” Clary searched for something to say.

“Or should I say,” he said, “I was about to call Avery.”

“I—what?” Clary was beginning to slightly panic, and she searched for the doorknob behind her, but Jace leaned forward and put his hand on the door, preventing her from opening it.

“I meant to talk to you yesterday at the party,” Jace continued. Clary swallowed. “But I had things to discuss with Alec, and then I didn't really want to get into it.”

“How did you...?” Clary managed to squeak. She didn't finish the question, but Jace knew what she was asking. Did he hate her for lying?

“I always knew there was something off, but I figured it out the day I danced with you.” He picked up her right hand, running his fingers tenderly over her knuckles. “You forgot to take off your ring.” Then, after a pause. “Also, I asked Magnus like five minutes ago and he didn't find it worth hiding from me anymore.”

“Damn Magnus,” Clary said, on the verge of relief. She shouted at the door: “I'M NOT HELPING YOU.”

She heard Magnus's yelled reply: “YES YOU ARE.”

Turning back to Jace, she asked: “You knew all week?”

“Pretty much,” he said.

“You're not mad?”

“Mad?” Jace echoed. “No. It was a good idea.”

She let out a sigh. “Thank God.”

“I feel a little dumb for falling for it for so long, but you wouldn't have gotten the internship otherwise. When you walked in on me arguing with Kaelie the first day, I was warning her that my father was close to discovering her Downworlder affiliations. I had no part in it, but I think her attacking you with juice later was a ploy for me to fire her, so she wouldn't be found out. I'm not a hundred percent on that though.”

“You have this thing,” Clary said, slipping past Jace and going to sit on the couch, “Where you tend to hide things you know and telling me you know them like a week later? And it's kind of confusing and tedious.”

Jace went over to the vanity and lifted her wig, looking at her pointedly. “You're scolding me about hiding things?”

She glared at him. “You just said it was with good reason.”

“You're right, though,” Jace said, and joined her on the couch. “I have a thing about hiding things from you. I think I'm a bit of a cynic at heart, and it's hard to break out of years of practice. Which is why I'm here. Because I wanted to tell you about the Clave investigation... about my father.”

Clary hugged her knees to her chest and watched Jace carefully. The muscle in his jaw worked again, and then he sighed, relaxing, and began: “When I was a kid, my father tended to drink. And when I was about 6, I came home from school to find my mother had disappeared. For years I accepted the lie my father came up with as the truth: that she had run away.

“For years, I beat myself up over it, like it was my fault she left. I felt so alone. And then, when I started working with him, I started to realize the cruelty with which he conducted himself. And, well, a bunch of stuff finally fell into place, especially once I learned about and was invited to the Clave. I... I think Stephen Herondale killed my mom, and used his influence in the Clave to cover it up.”

“My God, Jace,” Clary said, and reached for his hand. He took hers and squeezed it, as if reassuring himself of the reality, the tangibility, of her. “I—”

“You don't have to say anything. I know it's hard to come up with a response to that. I just... You were right. I shouldn't keep secrets from you, especially when I've found out all of yours. So this is me.”

He took a deep, shaking breath, and said, as if reassuring himself: “My name is Jonathon Herondale, and I hate my name because I hate the man who gave it to me. My father is Stephen Herondale, and I think he killed my mother. I am an undercover member of the Clave, and all I've ever wanted to do was help the world, but everything somehow ended up very screwed up. I once was happy, idealistic, and now my only goal is revenge. I have ever loved two women in my life: my mother, Celine Herondale, and you, Clarissa Morgenstern.”

“Jace,” Clary whispered, and he must have realized he was crying.

“Sorry, I just...” he trailed off, wiping at the tears with the back of his hand. “You're the only person who's ever seen me cry,” he muttered.

“Jace,” Clary said again, and her heart broke for him, for how far she had fallen for him. “Thank you, for telling me.” And then, because saying those three words in return to him was too much for her right then, too much of her heart to give away, she said: “Will you go out with me?”

Jace blinked at her, looking surprised, and then, though his eyes were still like glass, he smiled, wide, and took her hand again. “Of course,” he whispered. “I can think of nothing that would make me happier.”

And then he kissed her, slow and soft and steady, and she could feel the heartbeat in his chest—pulse for pulse it matched her own. She marveled at the vitality of him as he laid her back on the couch, with one arm wrapped around her, holding as if not even the world ending would make him let go.

Yes.

She loved Jace.

She whispered it against his lips, and he smiled against hers before trailing kisses down her neck, shoulders. Jace's other hand lingered at her waist where her shirt had ridden up, tracing fire from his touch against her skin, before moving to her belt.

They were half undressed when they heard Magnus scream from across the building somewhere: “I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU TWO ARE HAVING SEX ON MY COUCH—” and they broke apart, breathless and laughing and in love.

 


	47. Poison Tongues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> feat. Deceiver of Fools by Within Temptation and Fourth of July by Fall Out Boy

Clary spent the weekend either in Jace's arms or helping Isabelle get ready for her engagement party on Friday. She was free from working at the bar for the week since Herondale Industries was officially renovating the place, and wouldn't be done until Friday, though the following day Magnus was having a big shindig to celebrate the reopening.

It was uninterrupted bliss, and every morning Jace greeted her, and somehow it had become their “thing” to dance each morning or anytime they had a free moment and weren't occupying said moment with less PG-rated activities. Spinning along in his office for a few moments to the tune of _All About Us_ by He Is We or making out furiously on the desk was only occasionally interrupted by Simon, who would splutter profusely before Jace lightened the mood by making only the most embarrassing snarky remarks.

Until Friday.

When she walked into work, Camille told her Jace hadn't come in yet, and then that Stephen Herondale wanted to see her. Clary swallowed and nodded. Within Temptation's _Deceiver of Fools_ played on the ride in the elevator. She remembered now, when she'd first come into work the day before that Jace had looked upset until he saw her. Something was wrong.

She knocked on the wooden door bearing the Clave insignia, stared them down, for Jace, and for her mom, and for her name.

“Come in.”

She opened the doors, unabashed, and stood before Stephen Herondale.

“Clarissa Fairchild . . . Or should I say, Clarissa Morgenstern?” he said, and the devil grinned. “Won't you sit?”

Even as fear struck through her, she did as he offered, sitting in the same chair she had before, but this time she refused to feel timid about herself. The man before her was a murderer, and she would not bow to his will. She tried to will the fast beating of her heart to steady.

“Do you know,” he said slowly. “What meaning your name carries?”

“It would be naive of me to not know my family's history,” Clary said, voice level.

“Ah, good,” he continued, leaning forward on his desk and meeting her gaze. She caught for a moment in the depth and viciousness of his eyes, but she dared not look away. “So then, you know the traitorous acts of the Morgenstern family, don't you, Valentine's daughter?”

“What do you want from me?” Clary asked. She definitely knew where Jace learned his serpent's tongue of twisting words. Never direct until you pushed them, the Herondales.

“I want you to stay away from my son, and while I can't legally terminate your internship, I can terminate your time as his secretary.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Is it, my dear?” Stephen leaved back in his chair, looking at his hand, and Clary noticed a silver ring, like her own, with a different pattern on it. “No,” he said mildly. “That's not the threat I'm about to make.”

Clary swallowed, and it finally occurred to her how dangerous of a situation she was in. Not only was she half the size of the man in front of her, but he'd also expertly hidden, and gotten away with Celine Herondale's murder.

“No, I think it would be much more fun to watch you suffer, after putting all of this work into your career, just to have it tainted by your, hmm, what shall we say, inability to cooperate with your boss. I have connections, as I'm sure you know. I will ruin you.”

It was not the answer Clary expected, but it still shattered her. She loved business—it had always been her dream. He couldn't take that away from her. God forbid she try and have a good career and a good love life, but just when she got Jace, all her work and dreams were about to be ripped away from her.

Stephen Herondale must have recognized from her expression that he had won. “Ah, good. I expect you to end things with Jonathon by the end of the day, or this will be the end of your career.”

“Is that all you wanted to speak with me about?” she asked, feeling hollow.

“That's all. You may go.”

Clary nodded, and let herself out. She hugged her arms against her body as she made her way to the elevator. The doors opened and welcomed her with the faint sound of _Fourth of July_ by Fall Out Boy, and, even worse, with the sight of Jace's worried gaze. She stepped in, and he, recognizing the pain on her face, said, “Clary?”

The concern in his voice broke her heart. How could she do this to him? How could she tear that happiness away from him?

_I have ever loved two women in my life: my mother, Celine Herondale, and you, Clarissa Morgenstern._

She didn't want to break him.

But she also couldn't break herself. She was not going to shatter her dreams for a boy, even if that boy was Jace Herondale. She couldn't limit herself like that, not after all the effort she'd put in. There would be other chances at love, but not at her career.

A tear slipped down her cheek, as they rode down to Jace's floor, and Jace, still worried, moved to wipe it away. She pushed his hand away. “Clary—”

“I-I can't, Jace.”

“No, no, no,” he said, sounding desperate. His eyes were glassy again, and she could practically hear them cracking. She was shattering him, just like when he lost his mother. “No. Please, Clary, don't let my father do this to us. Don't let him play you,” he pleaded.

Clary rubbed at the tear Jace had tried to wipe away, but found that now there were more to replace it. “He'll ruin my career, Jace. I don't have a choice.”

“It doesn't matter,” Jace protested. “We'll get him, and it won't matter. We'll take him down for the murder and—”

“What real evidence do you have, Jace?” Clary said, and that struck him. He looked like he'd been slapped.

“I-I . . .” his voice trailed, and then the glass broke and the tears fell from his golden eyes, spilling like diamonds down his cheeks. “Clary, please. I love you.”

There it was. She was waiting for it, the plea, and it broke her heart, again, to see the light in him collapse as she replied: “Love comes more than once; the rest of my life doesn't. You have to understand I can't destroy all I've done just for you.”

As she walked out of the elevator towards Jace's office—she was intended to move the things from her desk to Kaelie's old one, so she didn't have to see his heartbreak each day—she heard him say softly, voice cracking, “I'm sorry. You're right, as usual.”

She didn't dare look back at him.

 


	48. A Broken Heart Under Warm Lights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> feat. Your Type by Carly Rae Jepsen and Sunday's Best by The Years Gone By

Isabelle was shining.

The grove, in the middle of the city park, was reserved for her engagement party, and and everything was perfect. Tables all lined up, streamers of gold and white tangled perfectly amongst the trees, with the white paper lanterns casting a golden glow against the grass. Even the stars shone for Izzy, dancing along to _Your Type_ by Carly Rae Jepsen.

Clary had a hard time bearing with it all. She kept reassuring herself that she'd made the right decision. Kept telling herself she was right.

Her heart kept telling her this was all a mistake.

“You look wonderful, Izzy,” Clary greeted her friend meekly.

“Clary!” Isabelle cheered, and then, seeing the tiredness on her face: “Are you okay?”

“I . . .” Clary said, she hugged herself. “No, not really, but I'll tell you later. I don't want to ruin this for you, so enjoy yourself. Don't worry about me.”

Isabelle looked a little concerned. “Are you sure?”

“I'll be fine,” Clary insisted, and she forced a smile. It must have been at least somewhat believable as she added: “Have fun,” because Isabelle nodded, giving her a quick hug, and then turned to excitedly greet someone else.

Clary retreated across the clearing, noting that Alec was lingering on the sidelines as well. “Where's Magnus?” she asked him.

Alec, arms crossed as he watched Isabelle and Sebastian, looked like a bouncer in his dark suit and imposing stance. He sighed. “He couldn't make until later. I think he'd setting up last minute stuff for the reopening tomorrow.”

“Right,” Clary said, and left it at that. She hovered by Alec as the number of people present grew and grew. Alec was a friend. Alec was safe. Alec was decidedly _not_ Jace. But the gold of Isabelle's dress and yellow of the sparkling lights kept reminding Clary of her sad, broken Jace.

When she saw him across the clearing, at first she thought it was just another trick of the light, but no. There he was. He went to greet Izzy and Sebastian, shaking Sebastian's hand and giving Izzy a hug, and as he turned, Clary saw the gleam of his eyes, and her skin burned under the molten gold of his gaze.

A deer in the headlights, she was frozen in time and space, staring back at Jace.

She heard a crack—her heart, it must have been—and then Alec cursed. Jace took a step towards her, and suddenly the slow motion of the world caught up and everything was in fast forward, the laughter of guests, the twirl of Isabelle's dress, the beat of the music. She felt trapped, claustrophobic.

Clary turned and ran.

She found herself lost, metaphorically, in the trees and the darkness and the silence of it all, though in the very distance, she could still hear the music: _Sunday's Best_ by The Years Gone By. She found a small clearing, a gap between the tree canopy where grass, soft and swaying, called her down. Clary collapsed in a heap of her dress, and let the tears fall.

She had tried to stay strong. Because she couldn't let Jace see just how in love with him she was, and she didn't want to ruin Isabelle's night, but here with only the trees to comfort her, she could be weak.

Because that's what she was.

She was too weak to stand up for what she wanted: Jace. It was so much easier to be compliant, but so much harder on her heart. It ached within her chest.

“Clary?” came a voice from between the trees.

She called back: “Go away Jace!”

“I'm not Jace,” said the person, and when he approached, she realized it was Alec. “Oh, God, Clary. What happened to you two?” he murmured, and Alec sat down next to her, and pulled her onto his lap, and held her, and she cried against his shoulder. Somewhere in the mess of her heart and mind, she thought to thank God for the friends she had.

She would be so lost without them.

After some time, Clary's sobs subsided, and she was left sniffling as she clung to Alec's jacket. “Thanks, Alec,” she whispered to his shoulder, and he squeezed her.

“Do you want to tell me what's going on?” Alec said, ever the concerned big brother, even when Clary wasn't related to him.

And so she did: she explained to him all of it, from the Clave parts, just in case Magnus hadn't quite filled him in, and Stephen Herondale and the disappearance of his wife, and Jace and the heartbreak and good times and everything in between. Clary ended with: “I love him but . . . I just . . .”

“You're scared?” Alec supplied, and Clary nodded. “I don't know if it helps, but I had a hard time coming out to my parents. I didn't really, until after I had dated Magnus for a while, and well, I think with all my fear and procrastination about it, I ended up unnecessarily hurting him. But we pulled through. Who knows? You have time, Clary, and maybe you and Jace still have a chance.”

“But what if I hurt him too much? He looked so broken, Alec.”

“We'll just have to wait and see, I guess,” Alec said. “I'm sorry, Clary, that all of this happened to you. Sometimes its like the world chooses people, like you and Jace and Magnus, and picks on them, just for laughs. It's terrible, but it happens, and those people can still turn out great in the end, if not better than others.”

“What do you mean Magnus?” Clary asked, still sniffling slightly.

“Oh,” said Alec. “I don't know if it's my place to say,” he said, but continued anyway. “Just don't tell him I told you, okay? The short version is he grew up an orphan because his mother tried to kill him when he was really young, and well, he kind of went through a lot as a kid before making it over to the U.S.”

“Oh,” Clary sighed out, and her heart ached for Magnus. “You're right,” she said finally, “Sometimes the world does pick people, and sometimes those people end up really great. Like Magnus.”

Alec let her sniffling subside before he kept on. “I have something for you, from Jace. He tossed it at me before I went after you, and told me it was his 'Goodbye.'” Alec shifted and dug something out of his pocket, producing a silver chain upon which hung a ring.

Clary held out her hand, and Alec let it drop into her palm. In the moonlight, she made out the faint markings along the band of Herons flapping their wings, and she gasped out: “Oh, Jace.” She nearly broke down crying again, and slipped the chain over her head, and the ring fell down to her chest, against the beat of her heart.

“I don't know what it means,” Alec said, “But he must have deemed it important that he couldn't give it to you later.”

Clary nodded. “I'll be honest, I'm not sure either. But the Clave has their whole honor thing, and the rings bear family symbols. It's at least important to his name.”

“Well,” Alec said. “You seem to be doing better, and we've been out here for a while, so I doubt there's very few people left at the party. I don't really want to stay out here all night, do you?”

Clary shook her head and rose, climbing out of Alec's lap. He shifted, grunted, and then said: “Clary, can you give me a hand? My leg's asleep.”

Her laughter surprised her, how light it sounded, despite the heavy weight on her heart, and she wondered, as she helped Alec up, that she might be able to go back to normal, someday.

 


	49. Fear No More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> feat. Almost Is Never Enough by Ariana Grande and Dirty Angel by Courtney Jenae

Magnus was brimming, and seemed to have forgiven Clary for stealing Alec away the night before (he had shown up later and been very confused as to where his boyfriend had disappeared to). The bar looked completely different, but all the renovations were fitting: Magnus's standard bar had been restyled to look exactly like the speakeasy it portrayed itself to be.

The rustic, wooden style had been replaced by chic black and white and gold trim. The stage, once wood with red curtains, now was jet black, with white curtains held back by golden ties, and a new lighting system had been installed, which Magnus could change from the bar. The walls were dark with champagne-tinted shimmer, and the tables in the front replaced with small round booths, while the tables in back and booths remained for larger groups. The floors had been redone, and though the same wooden patterned remained, the fresh gloss and shine was a welcome addition.

When Clary finished marveling at the new look, she turned to Magnus, asking, “Do you think I should still perform as Avery?”

Magnus shrugged. “At this point, I don't want to pretend to know what's best. Everything got turned around with you, but it would probably be safer.”

Clary nodded. “It can't really hurt,” she said, and went to the back to get into her disguise. She walked into the dressing room, everything still packed in boxes after just recently being returned to the building, and saw the couch on which she and Jace had been only a week before.

She held back tears and looked away.

It was while she was hesitating in the doorway that Isabelle came in behind her, and nearly bumped into her.

“Sorry,” Clary murmured, and moved listlessly towards the vanity and began putting her hair up.

Izzy came up behind her and took over, her actions more motherly than because Clary needed the help at this point. “You said you'd tell me what went wrong. Alec told me he went after you, but he didn't say anything . . .”

Clary fiddled with the Herondale ring on its chain. “Stephen Herondale threatened me into breaking up with Jace.”

“Oh my God,” Isabelle gasped. “Did you call the police?”

“Not like actually threatened. He said he would basically taint my name for any business ever. I would never get hired. I don't think the police can combat that one.”

“Oh,” Isabelle sighed, and said mournfully, “Clary, I'm so sorry.”

“It's okay,” she said softly, and the tears tried to fall again, but she blinked them away. “I'll just . . . I'll get over it.”

Isabelle nudged Clary into sitting, and began working on her makeup. “At least you know you loved him,” she murmured. “If you're this heartbroken.”

“I suppose,” Clary said, and they fell into silence. Clary let herself slip into the routine of Isabelle helping her, and she could almost pretend it was the first night she performed as Avery—before her life became Clave and investigations and threats and Jace.

“Well,” Clary said when Izzy had finished. “I guess it's time to try out the new stage.”

“Oooh,” she cooed. “I can't wait. Go do your magic.”

Clary slipped into a silver dress that hugged her waist and a hem that pooled at the floor. Peeping around the corner, it was as she expected: the bar was packed for reopening night. Clary took a swift intake of breath.

Did the stagefright even really matter anymore, though?

She wasn't afraid of performing in front of others. She was afraid of making mistakes. And, honestly, she wasn't even sure if she was afraid of other people seeing those mistakes.

Clary was terrified of facing her own screw ups.

She didn't want to have to look herself in the mirror, later, and acknowledge the fact she had messed up. But isn't that what she'd been doing for almost the past month with Jace? Maybe that was the reason she sometimes couldn't bear to meet his gaze—because she didn't want to see her own faults reflected in it.

In comparison, a slip-up on stage was nothing to the flaws of her character.

But it would always be a reminder that she just wasn't brave _enough_.

So she stepped on stage, welcomed by cheers and excited expressions, and yet she still had to force a smile. Her performance of _Almost Is Never Enough_ by Ariana Grande hit her like an arrow to the heart, and she was left breathless at the end of it.

The audience loved it, and Clary slipped off the stage, thinking, _What if we were in love, not just almost, and that still wasn't enough?_

Magnus interrupted her gloom by motioning her over to his office while Isabelle prepared to start her performance.

“Clary,” Magnus said when she approached. “There was something that the workers had found and took out the back alley, but I never got a chance to see what it was. I thought it was suspicious at the time, but I got busy, and I have to run the lights for Izzy. Could you go check before I forget? . . . I think it might have something to do with why Stephen Herondale wanted access to the bar.”

Clary looked puzzled, and at the mention of Stephen Herondale, her heart sunk, but she nodded an agreement anyway. “Sure, but I doubt I'll find anything if they were trying to hide it. I'm no expert.”

“Thanks,” Magnus said, already making his way towards the bar. “I just want to make sure they aren't dumping radioactive waste back there or something.”

Clary slipped out the back door, eyes glued to the ground. She saw the footprints of workers in the gravel, but other than that, nothing particularly caught her eye, until she noticed a speck of white near the corner of the building. A triangle of light against the dark ground, and on one edge, it seemed to have shreds of a black plastic trash bag stuck to it.

Clary knelt, inspecting the object. Was that . . . bone? She cursed softly, and then quickly silenced herself when she heard noises coming from the adjacent alleyway.

Peering around the corner, Clary's eyes widened in shock at the realization of what was before her. “Oh my God,” she whispered as she snapped a picture with her phone, adrenaline suddenly pulsing through her veins.

She could hear faintly Isabelle singing _Dirty Angel_ by Courtney Jenae.

 


	50. A Long Time Coming

Clary rushed back into the bar, the back door slamming behind her with a bang so loud against the beating of her heart that it made her cringe. Isabelle was just finishing her performance, and was coming off stage, and Magnus meandering his way towards his office, and in the maelstrom of emotion buffeting her, she wasn't sure what to address first.

She must have looked like a fish out of water or something, because both Magnus and Izzy stopped to look at her peculiarly.

“Clary?” Magnus asked, and her voice finally made a running effort to catch up with her thoughts.

“I—I don't even know?—I think there's a piece of bone, out by the corner of the building, near the alleyway? And I didn't want to touch it? Because, well, it's bone?”

Magnus looked at her with a puzzled expression as her words settled in. Her cursed, fluently in English, as well as a language Clary didn't recognize. “Are you serious?”

“Y-yeah? Anyway I think we need like a plastic bag or something to pick it up?” her voice was still pitching up at the end of her statements, making each sentence feel like a question, but the surety of her words posed a stark contrast to her tone.

Magnus seemed a little shell-shocked. “Yeah, yeah, okay,” he muttered, and made his way towards the kitchen to find something that would suffice for keeping possibly years-old evidence of murder.

Then, turning to Isabelle, who looked a mixture of horrified and confused and very, very concerned, Clary breathed, “Izzy,” as the realization set in. In her hand was her phone. She had just used it to take a picture of Isabelle's boyfriend—no, fiance—and another girl. Together.

Sebastian was cheating on Isabelle.

She had to say something. Izzy had to know.

Sebastian was probably not going to live to see another day.

Clary steeled herself, mentally steadying her mind and heart and voice as she slowly said: “Isabelle, when I was out there, I saw, uhm, Sebastian w-with . . .” The recognition hit her like a truck—the blonde hair, the white flash of a smile, the familiar face, showing up here and there, following, and then conveniently disappearing at the same time Sebastian did.

Isabelle looked at her. “Clary?”

Clary took a deep, shaking breath. “Sebastian's cheating on you?”

“Wh-what?” Izzy stuttered. Izzy never stuttered, but Clary caught it, and she backed herself up against the wall, as if she was the one who needed the support, not Isabelle.

“I-I saw him, with someone—her name's Marueen, I think—in the alley.” Suddenly, remembering: “I have a picture, i-in case you didn't believe me.” She unlocked her phone and held it out towards Isabelle.

She saw the blood drain from her friend's face, and suddenly Isabelle seemed to sharply deflate, as a look of hollowness swept over her expression, then quickly replaced by harsh, unbridled rage.

“What?” she growled, but it was not a question meant to be answered. Then a long string of expletives flew from her lips, cursing Sebastian's name, cursing him for lying, cursing him for making her fall in love. “How dare he?” she hissed, and then stomped towards the back door.

“Wait, Izzy!” Clary called, but it was no use.

At that moment, Magnus returned with a dustpan and plastic bag. “What's going on?”

Clary didn't answer him as she hurried after Isabelle, and Magnus, confused but needing to go outside anyway to collect the bone shard, followed.

Clary saw Isabelle round the corner, and then watched her friend scream to the dark of the night sky when she found no one there. “I can't believe it!” she cried. “All this time!”

Clary acknowledged that it was probably a very appropriate reaction. And when Isabelle pulled back her fist to slam it against the brick wall of the building, Clary rushed over and pulled her back, sweeping a crying, bristling Isabelle into her arms.

Magnus was still very confused. “I take it I missed something?” he whispered to the dead air between the three of them.

Clary, realizing Magnus had followed her, remembered the reason he had gone away in the first place. Not sure what to acknowledge first, she settled for pointing at where the piece of bone lay, and began, softly, “I caught Sebastian . . .”

Magnus had responded immediately to her gesture, and was kneeling on the ground when she spoke. She saw him stiffen, straightening with the bone safely tucked away in a sandwich bag, and suddenly look at Clary and the mess that was Isabelle with a new light. His eyes widened, with Magnus being far more perceptive than Clary, and she metaphorically saw the gears clicking in his head.

He was stunned, silent for a moment, and then he dropped what he was holding, and fell into the hug around them, engulfing Isabelle between himself and Clary.

 


	51. Evidence

Sunday was a day of not work, but of a task. Clary's heart was constricted and twisted into all sorts of unnatural shapes and feelings, none of which she could particularly describe, but she was instructed by Magnus very specifically to take the bone shard to her mother, to have it looked at, and the—dare she place it as such—fear she heard in his voice made her pack her convoluted knot of emotions away and do as he asked.

So, despite the fact she could no longer distinguish the color of anger from the color of love or the color of contentment, Clary approached the entrance to Luke's hole-in-the-wall Chinese joint and let herself in on a late afternoon. A bell attached to the top of the door signaled her arrival.

The room was empty beyond the cashier, looking bored, behind the counter who glanced up, and, not quite recognizing her, asked, “Jocelyn?”

“No,” Clary said. “That's my mom.” Never before would the thought have crossed her mind that she shouldn't have said those words so freely—seeing as apparently her name was tainted—but Stephen Herondale already knew and already ruined her life for it, so what did it matter anymore?

“Oh,” said the cashier, who, as Clary approached, read his nametag to say “Bat.” Despite his burly appearance, he looked awkward for a moment. “Do you need something?”

“Is Luke here? Or my mom?”

Bat nodded, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder. “They're in the back. Do you want me to go get them or . . . ?”

Clary shook her head. “I'll go back there. Don't worry about it.”

“Oh, okay,” he said, and sounded a bit disappointed. Clary realized he might have been looking for an excuse to get in on some action around the place, seeing as the sudden appearance of Jocelyn and Aline was probably enough to raise suspicion that at least _something_ was happening.

Clary slipped past him all the same, ignoring Bat's expectant expression, and let herself through the kitchen door with a call: “Luke? Mom?” When there was no reply, she added tentatively: “ . . . Aline?”

“Clary?” A door across the room suddenly burst open, and Jocelyn Fairchild popped out, looking slightly frazzled. Though, from the way Luke was trying to hide his grin, Clary was pretty sure it wasn't just from all the work. Okay, she very _very_ quickly derailed that train of thought to focus on the reason she'd come. “What are you doing here?” came Jocelyn's inquiry.

“We found something at Magnus's place, after he said he thought the workers had found something and taken it out of the building before Magnus could get a look at it. I—uhm—we think it's a piece of bone.” Clary swallowed. “We think it might be why Stephen Herondale was so interested in The Sparkling Glass.”

Jocelyn's eyes widened visibly. “Are . . . Are you serious?” she said softly.

Clary held out the plastic bag containing the shard in question.

Jocelyn gingerly took the item, running her fingertips on top of the plastic over the piece, the idea that it might be a bone not in the slightest a turn off to the determined woman. “This . . .” she started, marveling—a very different reaction to that of Magnus or Clary. “This is amazing,” she said. “If this is Celine Herondale's, we might actually, _finally_ have some damn proof. I mean the phone records checked out, and certainly the financial reports, but _this._ This is huge.”

She looked up, and the fire in her eyes was unmistakeable, unquenchable. “Thanks, Clary.”

Clary shrugged. “It wasn't really my doing. I just delivered it . . .” Her voice trailed off as her phone rang, and she turned away from her mom and Luke to answer: “Alec?”

“Clary,” he breathed into the line, and she tensed, freezing. She could tell there was something wrong by the hitch in in his voice, and the way his breath, ragged and sharp, was a tell of either exertion or panic. Clary bet on the second one, and his next words confirmed the reason: “Isabelle's in the hospital.”

The words rang through her, like the echoing of a bell, clashing in her head until they jumbled and fell, limply, past her tongue. As she managed was a cracked: “What?”

Alec made a choking noise, and she realized he was sobbing. “I—she—Clary, _please._ ”

“Luke, I'm taking your truck!” Clary yelled across the room, snatching his keys off the kitchen counter and bolting for the back door.

“What?” Luke said, a mixture of concerned and puzzled and maybe a little put off.

“Clary?” Jocelyn called after her, but she was already outside, leaping into Luke's truck and making a mad dash for the address Alec told her.

 


	52. No More Play Acting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> feat. I Know What You Did Last Summer by Shawn Mendes and Camila Cabello and Another Me by The Cab

The world spun.

This wasn't happening.

No, this didn't happen. It had to be a dream. It couldn't. Isabelle was perfect, strong, independent, beautiful, confident, brave . . . The look in Magnus's eyes said it was not a dream.

He rose when she frantically burst through the hospital doors, hovering in the waiting room for only a moment before she dove for the front desk. Magnus caught her, wrapping her in the iron bars of his arms. She tried to duck underneath his hold, but he tightened his grip on her. “Clary,” he breathed, “Clary, calm down.”

“Calm down!?” she screeched at him, equal parts hysterical and outraged. “What do you mean calm down? Magnus, she's hurt, she's-she's—” Her voice broke off into a cracked sob, and Magnus loosened his grip as her shoulders slumped.

“Take a deep breath,” he said softly, talking to the top of her head. “She's stable now. She'll recover.”

“'Now'?” Clary echoed, and her voice came out as a hollow breath, barely audible. “Now” meant that Isabelle was at one point so hurt that she wasn't stable. She almost choked on the words as they tumbled from her lips: “Magnus, what happened?”

Magnus sucked in air, on the border of shuddering, and released her from his arms, but guided her by the shoulders to return to where he was sitting. Clary sat next to him, feeling numb. The cold of the hard plastic chair stung her skin and she pressed against it, needing something to hold on to—some sort of feeling.

“Isabelle,” Magnus started slowly. He stared at his hands as he flexed his fingers—a nervous tic, perhaps. “Well, as far as we know, got into an argument with Sebastian and-and . . .” Magnus trailed off, and when Clary looked at him, he appeared to be having a hard time saying the next few words, as if they stuck in his throat. He swallowed, and she could have sworn she saw a flash of fear in his gaze when he glanced up, and in turn it sent adrenaline blazing through her nerves. “How do . . . I, uhm . . . Sebastian hit her . . . and it escalated from there . . . if that makes sense.”

He swallowed hard again, watching as Clary processed, when she blinked at him, not responding, Magnus continued. “All the info we have comes from Sebastian, so it's not he most reliable source, and since Izzy's been out this whole time, we don't know her side . . . But I suspect she went to confront him about him cheating, and . . . and he beat her.” The solidity of his last words felt like a punch to Clary's stomach. Magnus looked the way she felt, and he seemed to wince at the words he'd said aloud.

Her mind reeled. The shock settled first, then the outrage, and then the pain: heavy and dark guilt, clouding the edge of her vision with its ferocity. Part of Clary screamed, _How dare he? How dare he hurt her?_ but the blame was weightier, and the words that slipped off her tongue like poison were: “It's my fault.”

Magnus's body shot stiff as a board, and the strength with which his gaze pierced her was surprising. “No, Clary,” he said, stern and sounding as though the weight of the world was on his shoulders at the same time. “This wasn't your fault. You did nothing wrong. She needed to know. How would you feel, not doing anything, and having Isabelle marry that bastard? You did the right thing.”

Clary nodded, the numbness setting in further, and now she couldn't even pinpoint the feeling of the chair against her body. She stared into the glare of the fluorescent lights in the waiting room, and Magnus grabbed her hand as _I Know What You Did Last Summer_ by Shawn Mendes gently played at a radio on the front desk.

Minutes passed, or perhaps hours. When Clary glanced towards the entrance, she noticed through the glass doors that it had gotten dark, but she couldn't tell how late it was. The timelessness was a sort of bliss, caught in the suspense of numb waiting.

The sound of footsteps drew their attention to the hallway past the desk, and Alec's dark hair contrasted the pale blonde of the devil who walked behind him.

Clary bolted to her feet, the cry of anger already in her throat before she even knew what she was going to do to Sebastian.

Maybe she'd hide his bones under the floorboards of the bar, like Stephen Herondale had. Worked for him, for years; why couldn't Clary get away with it too?

“How dare you,” she spat at him, lunging forward in all the fiery glory of a pissed redhead. Alec caught her and held her back, but said nothing to deter her words. Sebastian looked at her tiredly, weary. “What kind of fool do you take her for?” she hissed, and the rage that boiled her blood made her shudder against Alec's arms.

Sebastian wouldn't meet her eyes, as Clary spewed obscenities and struggled against Alec's hold. Clary absently noted she heard someone come in entrance behind her.

The next heartbeat happened in slow motion.

The song changed to _Another Me_ by The Cab.

Clary saw Simon out of the corner of her eye, slipping past Alec's vaguely curious expression.

Simon's fist flew.

Sebastian reeled back, rubbing his jaw where Simon had punched him.

Clary froze.

Sebastian responded for the first time: “I deserved that,” he told Simon, solemnly, and he looked past Simon to meet Clary's gaze. She was shocked to see Jace's broken-glass expression in his eyes, and for a moment was taken aback. “And I never deserved her.”

Sebastian walked past them and out the hospital doors.

 


	53. New Feelings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> feat. Blue Blood by Laurel

Simon and Clary stood outside Isabelle's hospital door. A concussion. A broken arm. Heavy bruising on her side, and some on her back. For the most part, she was okay—currently talking with Alec about what things he should bring her from home—but was required to stay another couple of nights for observation.

“She'll be fine,” Simon told Clary as he leaned against the wall next to the door. “It'll be okay, Clary. Stop tearing yourself up.”

Clary let go of the bottom lip she hadn't realized she was biting. She tasted blood. She looked up at Simon, and wondered how the warmth he now looked at her with had ever been replaced by the raw fury she'd seen in his gaze when he hit Sebastian only minutes before.

“You know,” Simon continued, softly, and he played with the edge of his t-shirt, shying away from her gaze. “Izzy would call you sometimes when we were together, and eventually I picked up on the fact that her ringtone was different. It was Andy Grammar. _Crazy Beautiful_. And I used to hear the first line: ' _big brown eyes and crazy hair,_ ' and I would correct the song in my head, because the girl I thought was the most beautiful thing in the world had green eyes, and now . . . Now I think the lyrics are right. Isabelle is amazing.” The last words came out in a whisper like a prayer.

Clary watched him, saw him awkwardly rub the back of his neck, and saw the half-smile creep up on his lips. She barked out a broken laugh. “You always fall for the wrong girl, Simon.”

He sighed, softly, a exhale of nerves that perhaps he was hiding from her. When did he learn to steal away his emotions like that? “I know,” he said, letting out a soft chuckle. “But I think she's available, now.”

“Simon,” Clary growled, turning in an instant. “Don't be an asshole like that.”

He held up his hands defensively. “No, no,” he said quickly. “Nothing like that. It's okay. I'm patient. I'll wait for her, if she'll have me. I'm only a little bit of an asshole, just enough to punch bigger assholes in the face when they do bad things.”

Clary eyed him warily for a moment, before letting the air escape her lungs in a breath she wasn't sure she had been holding. “You're right,” she said, now feeling guilty for doubting his intentions. Simon was a good person. A good man. “I'm sorry. I just . . .”

Before she could find the words to explain herself, Simon grabbed her arm and tugged her towards him. She fell with her side leaning into his chest, and his arm around her shoulders, in a half-hug. “Hey,” he said softly. “It's okay. You've been through a lot. I think we all kind of have. It's okay to not be okay right now.”

Clary nodded and leaned her head against his shoulder. They listened to _Blue Blood_ by Laurel play from an open door nearby.

And that was how Alec found them a few moments later when he emerged from the room. “I need to go get her stuff,” he said, rubbing his eyes as he spoke. “She says she feels good enough to have you guys go in there . . . I, uh . . . Well, look, I know this is a bit to ask, and I don't know how long I'll be, but could one of you stay with her until I get back? She's not very emotionally stable and I think the company will help keep her mind off things.”

“Of course, Alec,” Clary told him, and he let his shoulders fall slightly, an invisible weight lifted off them. Simon's hearty nod gave him further confirmation and he gave them a grateful look.

“I'm off, then,” he said, and as he walked away, Simon let himself into Isabelle's hospital room.

Isabelle didn't look like the perfectly put together woman she usually was. Her eyes were puffy from crying, Clary noticed, a look she didn't think she'd ever seen on Izzy's face, but she let out a soft, startled laugh when Simon greeted the sight of her with: “I brought a sharpie. Can I sign your cast?”

They managed to keep the conversation relatively light, without delving too much into recent events, and the three of them fell into an easy banter over their shared passion of music. Despite everything, Simon managed to keep a faint smile on Isabelle's face with his stupid band adventures from when he was in high school, and the messes he and Jordan used to get into.

Time passed on like that. And sometimes, something would set Izzy off, and her gaze would darken, and she'd seem to fold in on herself, sinking into the hospital bed. At one of these moments, Simon asked her, braving the question, “What are you thinking about?”

Isabelle waved her hand at him dismissively, but then opened her mouth to speak. A soft distressed noise came from her throat before she cleared it and managed words. “I just . . . I keep thinking of all the wedding plans I had made. All the plans that aren't going to happen now. I just don't know what to do. I don't know how to face the people who are going to come to me and ask for confirmation about all the reservations I had made . . . the food, the buildings, the dresses, everything.” Isabelle hastily wiped the tears from her eyes before they could fall.

“I'll deal with them,” Simon said, and Clary's phone interrupted the moment by ringing.

 


	54. Maureen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> feat. Just A Game by Birdy and Try by P!nk

Clary answered her phone. “What's up, Alec?”

“Are you still at the hospital?”

“Yeah, of course. We wouldn't bail on you.”

Alec sounded timid. “I might have accidentally sent Jace there. He was at Isabelle's house, looking for you, maybe.”

It took Clary a moment to process. “What?”

“I'm sorry. I didn't think, and he and Izzy have known each other for years, and I figured he'd find out eventually, and I didn't want him mad at me for hiding it and . . . Sorry.”

Clary let out a slow sigh, the exact opposite of her speeding pulse and racing thoughts. “It's . . . fine, Alec. It's okay. I'll deal with it or . . . something.”

“Okay. Bye. Sorry again.” He hung up.

Clary lowered the phone from her ear slowly, because if she didn't take very careful control of her movements, she would probably have snapped and thrown it against the wall or something. She'd had enough. Didn't the world hurt her enough already? Didn't it already take Jace away? Why rub it in her face too, by forcing these meetings with him?

But no, the world didn't take Jace away. She pushed him away. That, definitely, was her fault.

“Clary?” Simon asked.

“Jace is on his way,” she told them quietly, voice surprisingly level.

“Oh,” Simon said, having not been completely informed on the past events with Jace.

Isabelle looked concerned. “Are you okay with that?” she asked softly, and the timidness of her voice made Clary flinch.

“No,” Clary said honestly, “But I can't do anything about it.”

Simon, though confused, realized something was up. “You could go. I'll stay here.”

Clary shook her head no, but even as she did so, she heard Jace's voice from down the hall, asking for Isabelle at the front desk, and the panic washed over her in waves. No, no. She couldn't do this. She couldn't look at him. Not now. Not after today. Not when the world had already crashed down so completely all around her. She didn't have the strength right now.

Isabelle saw her expression, and motioned at the door. “Go. I'll be fine.”

Clary gave her a desperate, apologetic glance, and bolted out the door. She caught a glance of Jace turning towards the hallway, and didn't dare walk towards him. Unsure what to do, she fled towards the nearest open door, finding herself in the room that had previously serenaded her and Simon with music.

The radio was on the bedside stand, playing _Just A Game_ by Birdy, next to a patient who lay sleeping quietly in the dim of the room. Looking at the girl, she realized with a shock that it was Maureen. “You?” she hissed into the dark, and then slapped her hand over her mouth, hoping she didn't wake the blonde girl.

“I know you're there,” Maureen said softly, and Clary contemplated running, but she could still hear Jace's footsteps in the hallway, and figured at this point, Maureen in a hospital bed was probably the lesser of two evils. “You're the one that caught us, right? I saw you, at least, I think. No, no. The one who caught us was a brunette. But you have her voice. Maybe you're another hallucination. Maybe you were then too. Maybe this all is.”

“What?” Clary whispered at her. “I . . . uhm. Yeah, that was me.”

“I knew he was dating her. I knew it was wrong. But I didn't know they were engaged. I didn't think it was that serious. I didn't think he'd take it so badly. I thought he'd fess up and they'd get over it and be fine. It was only supposed to be once, anyway, but Sebastian came back. I didn't mean . . . I'm sorry.” The voice from the bed was fragile, soft. Clary heard Jace greet Isabelle and Simon, and knew it was safe to go.

But she stayed. For some reason, she stayed. “Did he hurt you too?” she asked, horrified.

Maureen let out a soft, cracked laugh. “No, no. I almost wish he had. Maybe this all would be over with, then. No. I have cancer.”

Clary sucked in a breath of air.

Maureen continued. “It was kind of like a bucket list thing . . . One last adventure. Even if something bigger was starting to come out of it, I could just break it off, and there wouldn't be consequences because I was going to die, anyway. But I got in over my head, and . . . well, yeah. Tell your friend I'm sorry. It was selfish, and I can't really say I regretted doing it . . . But I'm sorry for Sebastian's choices. If I had known, I wouldn't have done anything.”

“That's . . .” Clary said, and then found she didn't have words. “I . . . okay.”

“Thanks,” Maureen said. “Oh, and hey, you used to sing at that bar, right? _The Sparkling Glass_?”

Clary swallowed. “Yeah?”

“Can . . . Can I ask a favor?” Maureen said, and she sounded shy.

“Depends. What is it?”

“Can you sing a song for me? Like whatever comes on next on the radio or something. I know I'm still being selfish, asking you of all people, but, I loved your performances—I had always wanted to be a singer—and I thought it couldn't hurt to try.”

Clary didn't answer, but, ironically, the next song to play on the radio was _Try_ by P!nk. The words began and Clary sang, and her heart tugged one last time that day and finally shattered, after being stretched in so many different directions. The tears flowed freely down her cheeks, even as she sang.

She heard Jace's laugh from Isabelle's room, soft and shattered, but there and alive and present, and it struck her how stupid she had been to give that up. Her conversation with Magnus suddenly drew to the forefront of her mind: _But you didn't follow your dream_ , she had said, and he'd fired back, _But I'm happy_.

Wasn't that enough?

Wasn't happiness worth fighting for?

Wasn't that why Isabelle still cared for Sebastian, still cried of his loss? And why he did the same? Why Sebastian felt regret? Wasn't that why Simon was willing to wait for Isabelle? Wasn't it why Maureen made the choices that she made?

Wasn't it all for those simple little moments of happiness?

As Clary finished singing, she drew in a shuddering breath, that rattled down her throat and left her insides feeling raw.

“Thank you,” Maureen breathed from her bed. “That was beautiful.”

Clary couldn't manage to answer her. She choked on any words she tried to say, not that they were coherent in any manner. Her voice failed her. She didn't know what to say. She didn't know what she was going to do. She didn't know how she was going to work through the rest of her life.

It hurt, she realized, to decide she was giving up on her dreams of pursuing business.

But she had decided.

If nothing else, she knew she wasn't going to live the rest of her life without hearing Jace's laugh again. She decided for herself. For Jace. For love.

For happiness.

 


	55. Of Weddings and Confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> feat. So I Thought by Flyleaf and Little Do You KNow by Alex & Sierra

Clary leaned, slumped, against the wall in Maureen's room. Visiting hours were over long ago, and Clary lingered just inside the doorway. The hallway outside was dark, and no one had come to check on Maureen. Clary wondered what that meant, if Maureen told them not to come for her sake, or . . . If there was no one to come.

Alec had returned sometime earlier. She heard him bringing Isabelle's things to her room, and later heard him, Jace, and Simon take off for the night. Clary listened for a few moments more to Maureen's steady breathing, and then slipped out the open doorway.

Letting herself into Isabelle's room, she slipped inside and settled into a chair near the bed, where Simon had been sitting earlier.

“Hey,” Isabelle said, eyelids fluttering open tiredly, and then, surprised: “Clary?”

“Sorry,” Clary responded. “I didn't mean to wake you.”

“It's okay,” Isabelle said. “I wasn't really sleeping very well, anyway. How are you even here?”

“I . . . Uhm. Well, I hid in a nearby room, and . . . Maureen is there.”

“Who?” Isabelle said, and yawned absently.

“Oh,” Clary said, and then didn't have the heart to tell Isabelle about it all. Not now. Everything was still too fragile, and Isabelle was hanging in the balance. Clary didn't want to be the tipping point. “Nothing . . .” she said. And then because she didn't want to let Maureen down, but didn't want to tell Isabelle about it all either, she just added: “I'm sorry.” For Maureen.

“For what?”

Clary shook her head, and the silence settled heavy upon her, so she filled it with words, more because she couldn't bear it than to help Isabelle. “I think I'm going to quit at the internship.”

“What?” Isabelle said. “Why?”

“Because . . . I'm in love with Jace. And that's worth more.” She ran a hand through her hair, stubbornly pulling her fingers through the locks, even when they tangled. “I don't know if Jace will give me a second chance, but I'm going to try.”

“I'm glad you think he's worth it,” Isabelle said softly.

“Sorry, Izzy. I shouldn't be bothering you with my stupid relationship decisions. I'm being selfish.”

“No,” Isabelle said, though her voice caught in her throat. “I . . . It's okay. Look, I'm fine. Really. I . . . It hurts, but it's hard for me to cry over someone I hate. And it's hard for me to cry over someone who was barely around to be my fiance. I used to feel guilty about how distant we felt, even after he proposed, and . . . Now I know the reason we were so distant wasn't my fault.”

“You're taking this all surprisingly well,” Clary observed softly.

“I . . . Guess. I mean, don't get me wrong, nightmares and trauma for years, probably. But . . . not heartbreak. Somewhere in our relationship, I think Sebastian gave up on taking care of my heart . . . Or maybe it was never his to break in the first place. I don't know. Having a moment of clarity right now, I suppose.”

Clary nodded and leaned back in her chair, holding her arms against herself. “Still. I'm sorry.” And the similarity of the situation to that of Maureen's apologizing earlier struck her.

“Eh,” Isabelle said half-heartedly. “I'll probably be breaking down tomorrow. Or when I go back home and end up finding little pieces of Sebastian all over by apartment. It's really the little things.”

Clary slowly nodded. “Yeah. The little things,” she echoed.

They settled into a more comfortable silence than earlier, and Isabelle reached out towards Clary. The redhead took her hand and ran her thumb over Izzy's ring finger, where her engagement ring used to be.

“It _was_ pretty,” Isabelle said, a little mournfully, noticing Clary's attention to her left hand.

“Maybe Alec would like it,” Clary said absently, and she felt Isabelle react rather than saw her.

Carefully, the other asked, “You mean . . . Magnus is . . . ?”  
  
“He told me he was planning to,” Clary confessed. “I don't know when. He said he wasn't going to get in the way of your spotlight, though, and now . . . Now I'm not sure. It would seem a little insensitive to do it so soon . . .”

Isabelle looked contemplative for a moment. “He should take my wedding,” she decided. “The venue is already set up to be rented, and the catering is reserved, but could still be changed if he doesn't like the food . . . And Magnus would have to change the clothing, but I'm sure he'd have no problem with that, and I'm rambling a bit aren't I?”

“Just a little. It's okay. I think we're both pretty frazzled at this point. It's okay to ramble.”

Isabelle took a deep breath. “Do you think Magnus would let me help plan his wedding?”

“Maybe,” Clary said. “Are you sure you'd be okay with it?”

“I-I don't know. Maybe part of the reason breaking off the engagement makes me so sad is that I wanted the wedding to happen so badly, but if Magnus was game for it instead, I think I might be able to do it. I wouldn't have to watch all the effort I put into it go to waste.”

Clary nodded, and this time the silence they fell into was interrupted by the ring of Clary's phone. It was her mom, and as she answered, she noticed the time displayed was past midnight.

“Clary, are you okay?” Jocelyn sounded almost frantic.

“Yeah, I'm fine, Mom. Why?”

“You never told us what was going on, and eventually we got worried.”

“Sorry,” Clary said, rising from her chair. Pulling the phone away from her ear, she said to Isabelle. “I should go. I'm not supposed to be here anyway. Bye, Izzy. Try to get some rest, okay?” Isabelle nodded in response, and Clary gave her a quick but gentle hug, giving careful space to her right side, where most of the damage had been done. Lifting the phone back to her ear as she slipped out the door, she asked Jocelyn, “Is that all you called me for?”

“Not completely,” Jocelyn said, and Clary realized what she had originally thought was worried frenzy she heard in her mom's voice was actually excitement. “We have a match for the bone. It's Celine Herondale's.”

“That's good, right?” she said, though she didn't really have the strength of mind at the moment to process the implications of that. As she closed Isabelle's door, she heard Izzy start playing music on her phone— _So I Though_ by Flyleaf.

“Yes, it is. We now officially have enough evidence to pursue Celine Herondale's case as a homicide. Unfortunately, we're having a hard time tracing anything back to Stephen Herondale directly. Magnus didn't have a camera out there, did he?”

“Hold on,” she told her mom as she emerged from the hallway, cautious. Clary stayed quiet for a moment, slipping through the waiting room. There was no one at the front desk, but the radio still sang, playing _Little Do You Know_ by Alex  & Sierra. She let herself out of the front doors, thankful they weren't locked from the inside.

Getting into Luke's truck, she finally answered her mom. “There's a camera back there, but with all the construction, the wiring got cut or screwed up or something, so it's still off.”

“Damn,” her mom said. “We need something more concrete. Looks like we're still looking for leads, then.”

Clary stared at the steering wheel for a few moments, while her mom muttered about where they could get more information, or, even better, a confession.

“ . . . Does Stephen Herondale have a temper?” Clary inquired, an idea forming in her head, slow and dangerous.

“As far as I remember, I'd probably say yes. He was always very well composed, but you could tell when things got under his skin, and every once in a while he'd crack.” Jocelyn suddenly sounded wary. “Clary, what do you have in mind?”

“You need a confession, right?” she said, voice steady and patient and low. “I'm going to get you one.”

 


	56. Last Encounters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> feat. Castle by Halsey and What Hurts the Most by Rascal Flatts

Two redheads, mother and daughter, stood before the looming building of Herondale Industries. Somewhere, high above them, sat a murderer, and Clary was going to confront him, take him down. Something told her the stakes were just a tiny bit higher than when Isabelle had confronted Sebastian.

That was the understatement of the year.

Clary's mom patted her cheek reassuringly, and then straightened her collar. Clary knew that move—the same one Jace had used. Jocelyn had briefed Clary in as much information as she knew the night before, and now she was bugged. This time it was more than just a voice sample.

Clary gave her mother a soft smile, then went inside. She greeted Camille at the front desk. “Camille, I need to speak with Stephen Herondale. Is he in his office?”

Camille looked stunned for a moment, before nodding. As Clary made her way towards the elevator, she heard Camille speaking into her phone at the desk: “Mr. Herondale, Clarissa Fairchild is going up to see you.”

Damn. So she wouldn't be catching him off guard, but all the same, she wasn't backing down now. Besides, regardless of the confession, she was quitting.

The elevator serenaded her with _Castle_ by Halsey.

Clary arrived at the twelfth floor with the ding of the elevator.

Gold and shimmer greeted her.

“Clary?” Jace said, looking confused and tired. “What are you doing here?”

Clary, not expected to see Jace, was shocked into a very intelligent-sounding, “Uh?” Her brain caught up with and she mentally scolded herself to focus. There were bigger things at stake here. “I'm quitting,” she said, and Jace looked at her as if she slapped him.

“I . . .” he trailed off, looking down. “Is it because of me?”

“What?” _Oh,_ she realized, with a start, what Jace would assume from that statement: that she couldn't bear to face him, even. “No, no,” Clary said quickly, then. “It's not you. Well, I mean . . . Yes? But not like that. Look, can we talk after I get done speaking with your . . . With Stephen Herondale? I need to apologize. For a lot of stuff.”

Jace glanced at her, and then looked away, not meeting her gaze. “Keep your apologies,” he said, after a long pause, and shoved past her to get to elevator. “I don't need your pity.”

“No! Jace!” she cried, and reached for him, catching at his wrist.

He stopped moving but refused to look at her as he growled, “What do you want? What could you possibly say to make up for how you hurt me?”

The venom in his voice made her recoil, drawing her hand back as if he'd burned her and taking a few steps back. “I . . . Please, Jace. Let me . . .”

“Let you what, Clary? Apologize? Beg for me to come back? Did you think I would forgive you? You broke my heart. I don't want to see you.”

“Wait . . .” she breathed, but the elevator doors closed and before she could stop him, he was gone. His demeanor was cold, but as much as Clary longed to go after him, she had to finish this. For both of them. Taking in a deep breath, she put Jace and their broken relationship as far back in her mind as she could.

It didn't work as well as she had hoped.

She had to pause outside Stephen Herondale's door, as the Morgenstern stars beckoned her forward, to wipe away the silent tears that slipped down her cheeks. Why the hell did she think she could do this? Why was she the one going to face off with the monster hiding in his tower? Where was Aline, and her mom, and all the other more official people who were supposed to be dealing with this problem?

It didn't _matter_.

She forced herself through the doubt.

It didn't _matter_ who else there was who could do this; it didn't _matter_ that she was going to possibly risk her life in Stephen Herondale's office. None of it _mattered._ Because even as much as she wanted to back to being ten years old, where conspiracies and governments and death were foreign adult topics, she had to do this.

Yes, she was doing it for Jace. Yes, she was doing it because she couldn't bear the heartbreak anymore. Yes, she was doing it because she finally realized that dreams and happiness are not always the same path you take upon the road of life.

But most of all, she was doing it for herself.

This was her, facing herself.

Facing her mistakes.

This was her fixing them.

Fixing herself.

And at the end of it all, Clary knew she was finally making the right decision. Even if she had to work for, or wait for, or never got Jace back, at least she would have been able to say she tried. For a brief moment, she thought of _What Hurts the Most_ by Rascal Flatts. The moral of that song was the disaster Clary was in the process of diverting.

She was so close, and there was a _lot_ she was going to say to Stephen Herondale.

 


	57. Celine

Clary let herself into the devil's office, pushing past the large wooden doors. Stephen Herondale was unfazed. “Clarissa,” he said as way of greeting, and the vile sound of his voice made her have to suppress the urge to shudder.

She couldn't let him under her skin.

Clary pinned him as best she could with a cold gaze. Those ocean abyss eyes stared back, and she forced herself to straighten her back, stand a little taller. Stephen grinned darkly as he watched her square her shoulders. “What can I help you with?”

Clary waited to reply, casually running her fingertip along the armrest of the chairs before his desk. She made him wait, though it brought little satisfaction as his composure remained perfectly intact. “I want you to make good on your threat,” she finally said, letting the words slip past her velvet tongue. Years of performing had taught her how to keep her voice under control, as long as she had the state of mind to focus on it. There was no stagefright to get in her way now.

“Oh?” Stephen Herondale purred, leaning forward on his desk. “I seem to not remember this threat of mine.”

“Then I shall kindly remind you.” Clary planted her hands on the opposite side of his desk, leaning only slightly to meet his gaze at eye level. “Ruin me,” she said. “Just like you promised. Taint my name and my career all you want, but I am making the right choice. I'm quitting. I'm choosing Jace.”

“And what makes you think,” Stephen drawled, not turning away, seeming as if he was enjoying her act. “That Jace will want you back?”

Clary's heart fluttered nervously in her chest, reminded of the scene moments before when she had encountered Jace on his way back down from Stephen's floor. She gave a half-shrug, nonchalant, as if the notion didn't affect her, but Stephen must have caught her hesitation, and pounced.

“You broke him, didn't you? You broke his heart? Why would he want you back again? Did he not just turn you away?” Stephen stood and clasped his hands behind his back, looking every bit powerful and regal. Checkmate.

Except for one thing.

How did Stephen Herondale know that Jace had turned her down?

That thought itched at her for a moment, and then clicked into place. He planned it. He planned to call Jace up there, planned her meeting with Jace before she came to confront Stephen. It was all part of the ploy. She hoped.

She let out a soft, easy grin. “I am a woman,” she told him, “We have our charms. I'm sure you would know something of that, Mr. Herondale?”

“My personal life is not of your concern,” he said simply.

“Nor mine, yours,” Clary quipped back, and then moved to stand so she faced his straight-on, though she still had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze. “And yet, you seem to have made it your business when you blackmailed me away from your son?”

Stephen remained silent, watching her play her cards.

“Now what made you do that, I wonder?” she said. “Because of the Clave, perhaps? Because you didn't want me staining your son's name?”

“Your family is traitorous,” he replied. “You were not to be trusted.”

“Or was it because my name was far too entrenched in Downworlder dealings? And that the purity of the Clave must remain intact? I wonder,” she said thoughtfully, tapping a finger against her chin. “What would Celine have thought of that reasoning?”

“I'm sorry—” Stephen Herondale said, and for the first time, she had caught him off guard. “What did you say?”

“Does that name ring a bell?” Clary asked innocently. “A name similar to your wife's? Or should I say, former wife? You would know a thing or two about why she's gone, wouldn't you? Maybe you have something you want to say about where she went? Ah, but forgive me,” the purr continued. “Celine has gone to a far better place—you ensured that—where as you, I don't think you'll be joining her.”

Clary caught the muscle in Stephen's jaw working, the same way Jace's did when he was angry. She was walking a thin rope here, but she had to get him to say something.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Stephen Herondale said.

“I think you do,” Clary said, turning and running her hand along the length of his desk thoughtfully. “What would Jace think, if he knew what you'd done? How would Jace feel when he knew you scared me away because I had Downworlder connections when Celine _was_ a Downworlder?”

“How dare you say that,” Stephen growled, the anger starting to drip from his form.

She turned to look at him, feigning puzzlement. “Say what? That you married a Downworlder? That you ruined your own name in the Clave, and then pleaded for their help to cover up her murder?”

“You're testing my patience, girl,” Stephen hissed, as Clary leaned casually against his desk.

“Is that what you said to Celine the night you killed her?” Clary shot back. “Did you give her any warn—” She broke off. She saw Stephen move, and suddenly her back was pressed painfully against the desk, and his weight was on top of her, on top of her throat. Her heart hammered against her ribcage.

“Don't you try to guilt me for the things I've done,” he growled into her face. She grasped at his arm, trying to pull it away so she could breath. Her chest tightened as it burned for air. “Don't you dare try to prove to me that I'm a bad man. I already know. I—” He cut himself off, as he pressed against her throat and the Herondale ring, on its silver chain, slid from under her shirt to clink on the desk near her neck. “Where did you get this?” Stephen demanded.

Clary clutched at his arm in response, digging her nails into his skin, and he let out a growl of anger and impatience and stepped away from her.

Clary sucked in air, coughing, as her body tried to recover. “Go to hell,” she croaked through a hoarse throat.

Stephen looked down at her. “I already am. Jace gave it to you, didn't he?”

Clary stayed silent, trying to straighten her frame so she looked less like the small, weak creature that she felt like.

“Fine,” Stephen Herondale said. “Get out. You win your petty life back. I'll still ruin your career. No one will believe you if you try to say I killed my wife.”

“Did you?” Clary hissed, voice still damaged. She needed to get a confession.

“Get out,” Stephen Herondale growled, voice raw and shaking. This time, Clary slid past him slowly, forcing her limbs to work. He throat hurt, and with the way he spoke, she wasn't sure she wanted to risk pushing the limits any further. Hopefully whatever recording she got would be enough.

Just as the wooden doors closed behind her, Clary heard him say, “The last thing I said to her was, 'I hurt you, I'm sorry.'”

 


	58. That Which Is Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> feat. Wings by Jeff Williams and Casey Lee Williams

“What the hell, Clary?” Jocelyn Fairchild spluttered as she hovered over her daughter when she slipped through the glass doors of Herondale Industries. “Are you okay? What happened?” She obviously recognized some sort of struggle, but with only sound as her guide, it would have been hard to tell what had transpired.

Clary waved her off half-heartedly, leaning tiredly against the side of the car. She finally gave herself the chance to catch her breath, taking in big, unnecessary gulps of air, while her mother fluttered at her shoulder.

It was when her mother breathed, “Oh, Clary,” that Clary caught herself crying, the tears slipping silently down her cheeks.

She hadn't even realized she had tears left to cry. What was she crying from? Shock? The solidified realization that Stephen Herondale was a murderer? The fact Jace might actually, truly, hate her?

Shuddering through one last deep breath, Clary tried to speak, and found her voice still croaked. Pushing through it as best she could, she managed a cracked: “He tried to strangle me.”

Jocelyn's eyes widened, and the fire of a protective mother burned in her gaze. “I swear to God, I'm going to take that man down if it's the last thing I do.” Her fist clenched at her side, but she remained rooted to the ground where she stood, something Clary realized must have been the effort of long police training. If Clary herself had been in her mom's situation, she probably would have grabbed the nearest blunt object and made good use of it on Stephen Herondale's vital organs.

“What about the recording,” Clary said through the tightness of her throat, her voice scratching along her vocal chords. “Is it enough?”

“We'll make do,” Jocelyn said. “You're not going back in there.”

“I need—” _I need to see Jace_ , she tried to say, but her voice betrayed her and she broke off into a cough that rattled against her chest and throat. She rubbed feebly at her throat, frowning.

Jocelyn looked equal measured enraged and concerned. “Since I'm legally not allowed to go in there and arrest—and possibly return the favor he did on you—Stephen Herondale, I think it might be a good move to take you to the hospital.”

“I'm fine,” Clary said, or rather, that's what she meant to say, but instead what her throat produced was a series of strangled noises, followed by more coughs.

“You shouldn't just brush this off, Clary,” Jocelyn said, running her fingers under her daughter's shirt collar to collect the mic she'd planted earlier. They were lucky it wasn't crushed when Stephen attacked Clary, but the same couldn't be said for the state of Clary's throat.

Jocelyn's fingers lingered at Clary's neck, then caught at her jaw, tilting her head up. There must have been some mark there, because Jocelyn let a hiss of breath out from between her teeth. “At best, this is going to bruise.” Her gaze was pleading as she looked at her daughter. “Clary. Please don't make me force you to go.”

Clary tried to wave her off, brushing her mother's hand away, since her voice was being uncooperative at the moment. Part of it was that she didn't want to admit it to herself, that she'd been hurt badly. It would make it just a little too real for her liking. The last vestiges of adrenaline were still lingering through her body, leaving her feeling like she was floating in a dream.

“Clary, please,” her mother said. “You know what damage to your throat can do, right? Especially if it goes unchecked? I can't promise how soon we can take Stephen Herondale down . . . I don't know if I can salvage your career . . . And if you can't do business, and if you don't get this checked, it could do permanent—”

Jocelyn broke off as Clary pierced her with a panicked gaze as she finally caught on to what her mother was implying, and clutched at her mom's arm. She opened her mouth, but only managed a low hoarse noise, only further proving Jocelyn's point.

She let Jocelyn herd her into the car, feeling numb. She had told Stephen Herondale to ruin her. She was prepared to lose her business career; she was prepared to give that up. But she couldn't lose singing too. He couldn't take that from her, could he? And yet here she was, feeling paralyzed as _Wings_ by Jeff Williams played on the radio and clutching her ruined throat.

She couldn't take it, not when the song was so tantalizingly _there_ and she could just open her mouth and _prove_ that everything was okay, that she was okay, and that everything would be _right_.

Except that it wasn't.

Stephen Herondale took everything from her, and he didn't even know it.

The tears against her skin burned with hatred.

 


	59. He Doesn't Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> subtly feat. Here Comes A Thought from Steven Universe

It wasn't supposed to be permanent.

That's what they told her.

It should heal.

Time would tell.

The waiting game was torture.

Magnus banned Clary from the bar the week following her confrontation with Stephen Herondale. He gave her little in terms of reason, but she suspected he wanted to spare her of the heart of patrons vying for her to sing, when she couldn't. She could have done some work, at least, but that wouldn't stop the prying questions and customers.

Not to mention she'd have to hide the bruising somehow.

But it all didn't matter anyway.

Clary spent the week in what was probably the greatest low of her life. Miserable for quite obvious reasons, she fell into a state of depression she hadn't lapsed into since that time she was bullied her freshman year of high school.

After he got out of work Simon would come, let himself into her apartment, make or bring some sort of food, force her to eat. Simple things, usually: pudding or fruit or soup. Then he'd nudge her into the bathroom to shower, get out clean clothes for her. Then he would wrap her in a blanket, settle her on the couch, and put on some cartoon about a little boy and a bunch of colorful rock people or something of that sort. Somewhere in the mess of a state Clary was in, the words _I'm here_ trickled through, and she managed to keep breathing, even if it meant having to face a world where she had no voice.

Halfway through her second week of banishment from _The Sparkling Glass_ , she convinced Magnus to let her come back, if not to do anything but stage work and cleaning. This was accomplished by her writing down what she wanted to say and Simon arguing her case over the phone.

She knew, even as he petitioned for her, that Simon didn't think her going back to the bar would help. She knew he thought it would make her feel worse, seeing Isabelle sing now that she was out of the hospital, albeit arm in sling.

So she went back to work for Magnus, and the bar had never been as spotless as it had before, as Clary drowned herself in being busy. She was still disguised—a way of making sure she laid low while her mother worked out all she could to finally take down Stephen Herondale. She kept herself distracted, from everything. She kept herself tired, so that when she went to bed, she didn't lie awake thinking about the bleakness that seemed to stretch before her.

So time passed, and Clary pulled herself out of her slum.

Her mother worked on the case.

She couldn't speak, for fear of damaging her voice further, but she survived.

Simon came less often, trusting her enough once again to take care of herself. It was during one of the nights she was alone that she got a call from Jace.

She made a strangled noise at him, but he seemed to not acknowledge her.

“Hello, Clary.” The tone was serious, but his next sentence followed hesitation. Perhaps he was waiting for her to respond. Did she dare risk not singing ever again to speak to him? She'd already chosen a career instead of Jace before, was it worth it the second time? But he continued before she could bring herself to talk.

“Look, I, uh, I wanted to thank you, I guess. Jocelyn told me you went to get a confession out of my father, and she told me you were successful. She wanted me to speak to you—well actually she told me to go see you, but . . . To be completely honest, I don't think I can bring myself to do that. I'm sorry. But, anyway. Thank you for helping with the case . . . You know, despite everything.” A pause. Clary once again tussled with the decision of speaking.

Jace himself seemed to be debating something, as the silence lengthened until he again spoke up: “One other thing, and then I'll let you go . . . I get it if you don't want to talk to me, and I'm not sure how much I want to talk to you, but the ring I gave you—the Herondale ring. It was my mom's, and in the Clave, giving away family rings is kind of a big deal. . . . It's usually done when people get engaged, or married. I, uhm . . . Maybe it was a little bold of me to do, considering the tradition, but I knew I would only ever love you. That's still true. I don't want it back, I just . . . Take good care of it, okay?”

Did he mean the ring, or his heart?

At this point, she couldn't leave him sounding so broken. “Jace,” she croaked, barely managing, and her breath followed as a hiss.

There was a sudden rustling from Jace's side, and he let out a hurried breath of air. “I, uh, well I'll go now. Bye, Clary.” And then the call was over.

Clary didn't sleep much that night. Her pillowcase was soaked by the morning, and her eyelids heavy with weariness.

And, just her luck, the next day her voice got better, a little, though it didn't recover. It was enough that Magnus let her work at the bar again, as long as no one was performing so she didn't have to talk over the music. Her voice was rough, and tangled in her throat, but it was back, to some degree. She could speak.

But she couldn't sing.

Her heart still ached.

 


	60. A Wolf in Sheep's Clothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> feat. Give Me Love by Ed Sheeran

“Can I have this dance?”

Before Alec could reply, Magnus tugged him away from where he was wiping down a table, settling his hands against the slender boy's hips. Alec let out a yelp as Magnus spun him, and in his flailing, probably hit Magnus in the face with a wet towel, but the other made no adverse response if that was true.

Instead, Magnus beamed down at Alec, soft chuckles rumbling his chest but making no noise as his flustered boyfriend settled himself into the circle of Magnus's arms, and the waltzed amongst the tables and chairs to Ed Sheeran's _Give Me Love_.

Isabelle glanced over her shoulder from where she was leaning next to Clary against the bar. She had a glass of one of her famous alcoholic concoctions (“to dull the excruciating pain,” she claimed, though Clary doubted that was even remotely close to true), and tipped her glass back to finish what was probably her third drink. But Clary hadn't been counting, and Isabelle never started counting. “Just do it already,” she huffed under her breath.

Clary tilted her head thoughtfully towards Izzy, regarding the dancing couple as she leaned forward on her elbows on the bar. “You shouldn't rush him,” she said back, making sure to keep her ragged voice low enough so that Alec wouldn't hear. While Alec was probably the most oblivious person she knew (except for maybe herself), she didn't need to spoil Magnus's proposal plans by raising Alec's suspicions.

At one point, Alec tripped over a chair, and then Magnus tripped over him, and the result was Alec flopped into a booth, and Magnus catching himself on the table for a moment before dropping onto Alec to presumably ravish him. It was at this point someone had to intervene.

“Hey!” Clary grumbled, cursing her throat for her low, distinctly not-useful voice. She nudged Isabelle, prompting the other to look up and call out in Clary's stead.

“Magnus, stop having sex with my brother on the booths! We just cleaned those.”

Magnus shot Izzy the finger behind his back.

Isabelle rolled her eyes.

Clary felt the stasis of her current life weight upon her. In some ways, it was as if nothing had changed—Magnus up to his shenanigans, Isabelle finding excuses to drink him out of house and home, Alec the ever-kind and helpful older brother to the two performers. For a moment, Clary could forget the depth with which she hated her current circumstances. She would revel in the feeling of _home_.

And then, out of the corner of her eye, she would see Isabelle's sling, or notice the shiny glitter of the bar renovations, or feel the scratch of her throat as her breath grazed damaged vocal chords, and the facade would shatter. She could pretend her heart was not broken—she could pretend all she wanted—and then the slightest of triggers would bring the world falling apart around her.

And she metaphorically fell with it.

Isabelle poured herself another drink, cursing once as her wounded arm almost knocked over a bottle of whiskey. She heard Magnus's voice as if she were underwater, shouting: “It's my bar, Isabelle, I'll do whoever I want in it.”

Sounding muffled, Alec's faint reply: “ _Whoever?_ Is there some other cute boy you've been having your way with? And why didn't you introduce me?”

Absently, Clary noted the playful confidence that Alec spoke with, something only Magnus seemed to bring out of him.

The pierce of her ringtone pulled her out of her disassociation. She lunged for it from across the bar, breath hitched in her throat, then released in soft disappointment when it wasn't Jace.

Why didn't she just call him?

She felt like she had stagefright all over again.

Isabelle tapped her lightly on the shoulder, bringing her back to reality. Izzy must have noticed her spacing out as she held her still-ringing phone without doing anything.

“It's my mom,” Clary said as she brushed past Isabelle and made her way to the dressing room.

Answering the call gave way to a very excited Jocelyn Fairchild. At first, her mother's words came out in such a jumbled rush that all Clary could catch was “did” and “Herondale.”

“What?” she breathed into the phone, coughing slightly as her voice tickled in her throat.

“Clary,” her mother said, suddenly sobering significantly. “It's done. We did it. We're going to take down Stephen Herondale.”

“For sure?”

“One hundred percent. Someone gave us a hand when they found out Stephen Herondale had hurt you. A friend of yours, he said. Woolsey Scott?”

“Who?” Clary said, racking her brain for a moment before it clicked. Stephen Herondale's coworker—at the party, he had winked at her. In her mind emerged the image of a scruffy silhouette, but not at the party. Instead, sitting at the bar, the night she preformed.

He must have known.

He figured it out.

But why?

“I don't understand,” Clary said. “What did he do? Why did he help?”

“Apparently, he knew Luke, back in the day, and Luke reached out to him for information on the phone records at Herondale Industries. Considering Stephen Herondale's . . . assault on you, we wanted to warn him of the severity of the situation, and he decided to do some more digging for us in the Clave. He was extremely successful. Between the actual evidence we have, and various bits and pieces of confessions from other Clave members that Woolsey managed to collect, I think we have enough to take down his alibi, and subsequently, him.”

Clary let the weight of her mother's words sink in. “So that's it?” she finally said, cringing as her voice cracked as she spoke.

“That's it,” her mother echoed. “It will still take some time to follow court processes, but Stephen Herondale can't get out of this one. I can't thank you enough, Clary. You made this happen.”

“I don't know if I can deal with the cost,” she said back, and suddenly fresh tears were stinging at her eyes. Her mom said nothing for some time. What was there to say to comfort Clary that she hadn't already been told? What words could mean more than Simon's soft whispers lulling her to sleep, her mother's former reassurances that things would work out, or the tight embrace of comfort as she was squished between Alec and Magnus?

There were not words to fix her voice. There were not words to fix Jace. There were not words to fix her.

Jocelyn must have realized that, and even so, she offered the smallest of consolations that at least it all wasn't worthless. At least they were successful. But since the words had run out, there wasn't any worth talking on the phone anymore, so Clary's mother just added a simple, “I'm sorry, Clary. I'll come see you tonight,” and hung up.

Clary let herself fall onto the couch.

She hadn't known before that she could feel both completely empty and completely filled with pain at the same time. The math didn't add up—one plus one equaled more than a whole, and yet here she was, feeling as if she were two people at once.

It was in that grey area between hurt and numbness that Isabelle found her later. The other girl sat with Clary on the couch, and they curled into each other, holding onto, if nothing else, friendship. Clary clung to the single reality that was Isabelle's unhurt hand, and Isabelle let herself cry for the first time perhaps since she got out of the hospital.

They grasped at each other, because, really, neither of them hand much else to grasp for except tangled strings of emotions and thin ropes of hope that would never, ever, carry their weight.

 


	61. With A Little Help

It was over.

The excuse Magnus had come up with for Avery's lack of singing was that she'd been in a car accident, and her seatbelt had damaged her throat, resulting in temporarily damaged vocal chords. She would be performing again within a few weeks, give or take some time depending on the degree of strain on her voice.

That was the excuse.

So the patrons, for the most part, left Clary alone about the ragged sounds she produced as she served them at the bar, and Isabelle would go on stage, leaving her sling behind only for the performance (her arm was merely wrapped, now, rather than in a cast).

The nights would pass.

On the slower weekdays, Simon would often come and keep Clary and Isabelle company, and he had taken to calling the both of them “my girls.” Neither of them particularly minded, but Isabelle seemed particularly fond of the term. If Clary hadn't been so depressed, she might have been pleasantly surprised, or perhaps even happy, for her friends.

She was at least grateful for Simon.

Between her circle of four friends, though sometimes inclusive of Jordan, she kept herself afloat. Magnus took measures to make sure she and Isabelle never worked too much, and Alec and Simon checked on both of them often—did they have food, did they take care of themselves, how they were feeling.

Life was doable.

Clary continued.

That was the best way she could describe it. She continued. She wasn't completely numb to the passage of time, but neither did she embrace it in any way. The days passed and she trailed along with them.

Her voice still did not recover, but her heart did, slowly.

Until it all began to shatter again.

It was late, and a slow day. Simon was the only one at the bar, idly chatting with Clary as she cleaned. Isabelle was performing for the few patrons what was probably going to be the last song for the night.

Magnus came up to Clary, distracting her, the damn man, and while her back was turned, the door opened and Jace walked in. Her attention flickered at the sound of someone entering, and her breath caught in her broken throat as he approached. Looking weary and unimpressed, he walked up to the bar, not acknowledging Clary.

“Magnus,” he said, voice hoarse as if he hadn't used it.

“Jace,” Clary said, and it came out as a breath of a whisper instead of sound.

His gaze flicked to her—shattered amber shards—then back to Magnus.

“Jace,” Magnus squeaked suddenly, sounding surprised. “What are you doing here?”

“Alec said you needed help moving supplies, so I came. He said he had to do something. I don't know what.” Clary's heart fluttered and shattered at the same time. She hadn't heard his voice in what felt like years, but it had only been a few weeks ago when he called and they both broke each others' hearts all over again.

“I see,” Magnus said, suddenly sounding pensive, and he shot Clary a look, then glanced over to Simon, who looked a mix of surprised, wary, and mildly puzzled at the same time. “Well, then the stuff is out back. Clary, can you help Isabelle with her mic while I go with Jace?”

Clary gave a furious nod, given that her voice had already failed her, and ducked past Magnus, fleeing backstage as Isabelle began to finish up her performance. Peeking through the curtains, she saw Jace's back disappear into the kitchen, and Simon disappear out front, phone to his ear.

Isabelle's song finished, and the dark-haired girl let herself backstage. Fiddling with the settings on the wireless microphone she was holding, Isabelle suddenly thrust it towards Clary, who almost dropped it out of surprise. “That was Jace I saw out there, right?”

“Yeah,” Clary managed in a low mutter, poking at the mic settings absently.

“Good,” said Isabelle.

Clary's surprised, “what?” was drowned out as Izzy turned her and shoved her onstage, yanking on Clary's wig as the redhead fell forward into the spotlight. Clary turned back with a mixture of betrayal and confusion. Isabelle just winked. Damn her, she planned something.

Turning to look at the bar patrons, she found at least some degree of surprise on each face. She was well known enough at _The Sparkling Glass_ that she would almost instantly be recognized, even by a room of drunk men (or, perhaps especially in a room of drunk men).

But the only gaze that mattered was Jace's, who stood near the far end of the bar, as close to exit as possible. He held himself with an air of indifference, but even from the stage, Clary could see his jaw working. He was . . . angry?

But before Clary could contemplate how Jace felt, the first tinkling notes of _All About Us_ by He Is We started playing, and the tears hit the back of Clary's eyelids like arrows. Through the haze of water over her gaze, she saw Jace's eyes widen.

 


	62. All About Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> feat. All About Us by He Is We and Owl City

Clary sang.

Voice rough and jagged, she managed.

_Take my hand._

_I'll teach you to dance._

She met his eyes. Tried to put each piece of broken glass into the molten gold of happiness she once made appear.

_Would you let me lead?_

_You can step on my feet._

_Give it a try,_

_It'll be alright._

But hadn't they sung this song a million times before, and now was very distinctly _not_ alright?

No. They'd never sung it—only danced to it. The severed rope of hope was slowly rewinding itself.

_The room's hush-hush and now's our moment,_

_Take it in, feel it all and hold it._

In the back of her mind, she processed Isabelle from behind the stage saying to her: “Good job, Clary.”

_Eyes on you, eyes on me_

_We're doing this right._

They didn't the first time. No, she didn't do it right the first time. Jace was perfect, and she ruined it all. But there was hope, wasn't there?

_'Cause lovers dance when they're feeling in love,_

_Spotlight's shining,_

_It's all about us_

_It's all, oh, oh, about us_

_Every heart in the room will melt,_

_This is a feeling I've never felt,_

_But it's all about us._

The song came to the end of the female part of the duet, and Simon had suddenly appeared next to Jace, offering him a microphone. Jace looked at it, then back up at Clary. A look of panic washed over his expression and he shook his head, then bolted out the door, just as Alec walked opened it.

Isabelle came back onstage and ushered Clary behind the curtain before the redhead collapsed. Tears were still streaming down her cheeks.

What Clary didn't get the chance to see was Alec grab Jace by the shoulders, stopping the blonde in his tracks just outside the door. Though she no longer sang, the music, as if forgotten, continued its gentle tones.

_Suddenly, I'm feeling brave,_

_Don't know what's got into me,_

_Why I feel this way._

“What do you want, Alec?”

“Go back in there, and talk to her.”

“I don't want to see her.”

“Yes, you do.”

_Can we dance real slow?_

_Can I hold you, can I hold you close?_

“Leave me alone, Alec,” Jace grumbled, and tried to push past him.

Alec took in shoulders again and pushed Jace back. “You're miserable. Go talk to her.”

“I'm not yours to fix.”

“You are now.”

“And why's that?”

Alec pinned him with one of the fiercest expressions Jace had ever seen on the usually mild-mannered boy. “Because when your mom died, you broke yourself. You shut yourself away, and hid your heart, and you never let anyone in. I know because I tried. Look me in the eyes and say you'll find someone else to love.”

_The room's hush-hush and now's our moment,_

_Take it in, feel it all and hold it._

Jace looked furious for a moment, and then the fight went out of his gaze. “How the hell did Isabelle get you to go along with this plan?”

“It wasn't Isabelle's. It was mine.”

_Eyes on you, eyes on me_

_We're doing this right._

Jace looked at him, and the hint of an embarrassed blush colored Alec's cheeks. “Why?”

“Because you love her. And you're broken, and as much as you won't admit it, you're a wimp, and you don't know how to deal with girls—or people for that matter, really—and you would have never even tried to fix anything. Do you know why she can't sing?”

Jace looked puzzled.

_'Cause lovers dance when they're feeling in love,_

_Spotlight's shining,_

_It's all about us_

_It's oh, oh, all about us_

_Every heart in the room will melt,_

_This is a feeling I've never felt,_

_But it's all about us._

“No, why?”

“Because your father tried to choke her, and he damaged her vocal cords. She lost everything for you Jace.”

Anger flared in Jace's expression, and then settled as the realization hit him. He cursed, hugged Alec in the most bro way he possibly could while holding back tears, and her burst through the doors to _The Sparkling Glass_.

Simon, eyes wide at Jace entrance, told him: “Backstage.”

And then it was Jace's turn to sing as he ran back, out-of-tune and off-key.

_Do you hear that love? They're playing our song._

_Do you think we're ready? Oh, I'm really feeling it._

_Do you hear that love? Do you hear that love?_

Clary was in the circle of Isabelle's good arm, and as Isabelle pulled away, Clary staggered, body heaving as she sobbed into her hands. Jace caught her, and yet somehow they still ended up in a mess of tangled legs and tears on the floor.

As Jace held her, Clary finally caught hold of that rope that was dangling so ever tantalizingly above her. With a mental heave, she pulled herself up, and clutched at Jace, staining the shoulder of his shirt with her tears and his leaking down onto her hair.

He had stopped singing—they were both too much of a mess for that perfect fairytail duet ending—but the song played on, letting the final notes embrace them as drowned each other in sobs and apologies and kisses and _love._

_'Cause lovers dance when they're feeling in love,_

_Spotlight's shining,_

_It's all about us_

_It's oh, oh, all about us._

_Every heart in the room will melt,_

_This is a feeling I've never felt,_

_But it's all, it's all about us._

 


	63. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> feat. The Bird and the Worm by Owl City and Beautiful Now by Zedd and Jon Bellion

It wasn't until two months later that Clary discovered just how much of an inconvenience to Magnus her damaged vocal cords were. When he had said, before, that he wanted her to help him propose to Alec, he meant he wanted her and Isabelle to sing.

Which, until about a week ago, would have probably been impossible.

The damage to her vocal cords must have been more severe than the doctors originally thought, but still not permanent. It just took far longer to heal that expected. While still not perfect, with voice therapy, her singing was almost completely back to normal. At the same time, the fracture in Isabelle's arm was almost, if not completely healed, though she was still under orders to be careful with it.

Overall, Magnus figured it was best to put off his grand scheme for a while, at least until things settled.

But now everything was falling back into place, keeping along with the contented pace they all seemed to enjoy walking together.

It was that pace that Alec was walking as he made his way towards _The Sparkling Glass_ , after receiving a call from Magnus, but that wasn't the plan for today.

As he passed the alleyway next to the bar, Clary and Isabelle emerged, stopping him in his tracks as the speaker in Izzy's back pocket played _The Bird and the Worm_ by Owl City. Alec looked profusely puzzled as they began singing at him, and linked elbows on either side of him, pulling him past the bar and down the street.

_If you're the bird,_

_Whenever we pretend it's summer,_

_Then I'm the worm,_

On the palm of Isabelle's free hand was a drawn bird, and Clary's index finger was colored as a worm with a smiley face. At their respective mentions in the song, they held up their hands in front of Alec, who was still exceedingly confused, but was now at least somewhat embracing the silliness of it all.

_I know the part,_

_It's such a bummer,_

_But fair is fair._

Simon suddenly popped out from the alleyway a few feet ahead of them, holding a paper with a another worm drawn on it.

_If my segments get separated,_

_I'll scream,_

_And you'll be there._

Simon riped the paper in half to go with the line about separated segments, but before the morbidity of that phrase could settle in Alec's mind, Isabelle and Clary put their drawn-on hand characters together.

_Close your eyes,_

_Close my eyes,_

_Side the cotton off of your shoulder,_

_And feel the shine,_

_Feel the shine._

Clary put her hand in front of Alec's eyes as they walked for a bit, following the song. They made sure to lead Alec on a route where the sun would hitting as they sang that verse. They turned the corner, and Clary removed her hand.

_I'm hooked so toss me over,_

_And cast a line,_

_Oh, I'll try,_

_I'll throw a party and greet my undersea friends,_

_It depends,_

_As they arrive,_

_If they arrive._

As they passed a cafe, Clary and Izzy pointed out an outside table covered in fake plastic seaweed and toy fish. The people sitting there (absolute strangers, but great sports, Clary had found) each wore little party hats and waved as the trio walked by. Alec waved back.

_You and I left our troubles far behind,_

_But I still have just one more question on my mind,_

_For all my pals who live in the oceans and the seas,_

_With friends like these, well, who needs enemies?_

They passed a decorated wall of ocean blues, with a giant question mark in the center, which was probably a good depiction of how Alec felt at the moment.

_If I'm your boy,_

_Let's take a shortcut we remember,_

_And we'll enjoy,_

_Pickin' apples in late September like_

_We've done for years._

Jace suddenly caught up to them as Isabelle lurched sideways, pulling Alec and Clary into an alleyway. They passed a crate with apples resting on it, and Jace plucked one from the top, offering it to Alec, who laughed as Jace winked at him and ducked away.

_Then we'll take a long walk through a cornfield,_

_And I'll kiss you_

_Between the ears_

They had set up decorations to look like fields along the walls of the alleyway, and Isabelle paused to kiss Alec's forehead before they continued.

_If you're my girl_

_Swirl me around your room with feeling,_

_And as we twirl,_

_The glow in the dark stars on your ceiling_

_Will shine for us,_

_As love sweeps over the room_

_'Cause we tend to make each other blush._

_You make me blush_

Clary took Alec and spun him as they moved out of the alleyway. Jordan lurked just around the corner holding up a stick from which dangled little yellow star cutouts.

_You and I left our troubles far behind_

_But I still have just one more question on my mind_

_For all my pals who live in the oceans and the seas_

_With fronds like these, well, who needs anemones?_

As they entered the city park, Isabelle pointed out a painted image of a sea anemone leaning against a picnic bench.

_You're the bird,_

_I'm the worm_

_And it's plain to see_

_That we were meant to be_

_We were meant to be!_

Isabelle and Clary held up their hands in front of Alec, showing him the bird and worm hand-drawings, and mostly obscuring his vision as they led him to a clearing amongst the trees. They removed their hands as they sang the last line: _We were meant to be._ Standing before them in the clearing was Magnus, looking somehow composed and nervous and happy and maybe as confused as Alec all at the same time.

“You and I left our troubles far behind,” Magnus said, echoing the lyrics of the song. “But I still have just one more question on my mind.”

Producing a velvet box from his jacket pocket, Magnus dropped to one knee before Alec, whose confusion was now turning to stunned awe. “Alexander Lightwood, will you marry me?”

There was a moment of spluttering that was almost characteristic of Alec when it came to Magnus's romancing, before he managed to squeak out: “Yes.”

And then there was more stunned awe as Magnus enveloped Alec in a hug, then put the simple silver band on his boyfriend's—no, _finance's_ —finger. This was followed by more hugs, and kisses, and whispered “yes, yes, of course,” against Magnus's lips as he kissed Alec into breathlessness.

There was an air of happiness in the clearing—joy and kindness and love and warmth. It was like _home_.

Then Isabelle said, “Alright, good. So that means I don't have to cancel the venue reservations, right?”

And Magnus, probably still riding the adrenaline rush of nerves and kissing Alec collapsed into giddy, breathless laughter, and pulled Alec down with him. Isabelle settled herself onto the grass beside them, just as Simon approached with a picnic basket, and together they began setting out the blanket and food.

Clary noticed how in-tune the two of them seemed to be. She wondered when exactly that happened—the late nights in the hospital, while Simon helped nurse Isabelle and Clary back to fully functional human beings, or in the past few weeks when finally everything was _right_ again? Looking at the joy on their expressions, she decided it didn't matter, as long as it _was._

Jace sneaked up behind her, apple in one hand as the other snaked around her waist. He peppered a few apple-juice kisses on Clary's neck as Isabelle set up her phone and portable speaker, and Zedd's _Beautiful Now_ began to play.

There was nothing more she'd rather ask for. Nothing more than this, as she threaded her fingers through Jace's and pulled him towards her friends.

This was it. This was her stage, right here. She didn't need a voice for this, not here, where her friends and the love of her life were, and she felt so distinctly like _family_. She didn't need a pretty stage of microphones, or extravagant outfits.

No, this was her heart's stage.

And Clary's heart _sang_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could have sworn this fic was 66 chapters not 63 but oops guess I can't count so anyway  
> that's. that's it. lmAO I have so many regrets with this fic bc it's so old and written over like 4 years bc in high school I never had time to write and wow it should not have taken this long to upload everything but thERE IT IS. thanks for stickin' all the way through if you did. Time to bury this under the floorboards and go back to my VLD fixation.


End file.
